


The Trine Effect

by Spoon888



Series: Mission And Companion Pieces [16]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Established Relationship, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Mech Preg (Transformers), Sibling Rivalry, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Transformer Sparklings, Troubling Unchildlike Behaviour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24441424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoon888/pseuds/Spoon888
Summary: Starscream and Megatron are done with having sparklings and are finally starting to get some semblance of their former lives back.But then Thundercracker and Skywarp had to go and ruin everything.
Relationships: Megatron/Starscream (Transformers), Skywarp/Thundercracker (Transformers)
Series: Mission And Companion Pieces [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/638945
Comments: 360
Kudos: 338





	1. Chapter 1

Starscream purred indulgently and tilted his head back against the hard-backed throne, resting his hands on the armrests and sprawling his legs regally, as if he were a king, surveying all that he owned. 

He supposed he was in a way - he thought to himself smugly, tilting his head and flicking his optics online to watch Megatron's helmeted head bob slowly up and down his spike. He wasn't often taken with the urge to use this particular array, and it was even rarer for Megatron to indulge him so enthusiastically when he did. Primus was clearly blessing him to have made such a perfect evening out of what had been little more than a mediocre day. 

Divinely intervention would certainly explain the rampant unexpected heat that had been surging through his frame and had led to him throwing caution into the wind in deciding to have Megatron in the vulnerable openness of the throne room. 

Starscream shuttered his optics and listened to Megatron's deep rough growls and heavy huffs as he sucked his spike. The slick sound of Megatron's wet mouth dragging up and down the length of metal was obscenely loud in Starscream's audials. Before long, warm coils of tension were building in Starscream's tanks, pulsing steadily towards his inevitable release. 

He thought vaguely of warning Megatron, but his processor was full of blissful fluff, and the considerate idea escaped him almost as soon as it had risen. Besides, the dark, vindictive side of him that never bored of rejoicing in Megatron humiliation would never die, even after all these years. As much as he enjoyed the sight of wet, stretched lips and the pink glow that had bloomed across Megatron's cheeks, he would delight in him red-faced and spluttering around an unexpected mouthful even more. 

Megatron swallowed and lowered his head, taking his full length. Starscream's pelvic plate pressed to his nose and the tip of his spike slipped down flexing throat tubing. He gasped aloud and his spike throbbed with a final warning. His claws cut groves in the thrones's steel armrests. He bucked forwards as the tension in his tanks reached breaking point and spilled over. 

He could _feel_ the first pulse of transfluid ready itself leave it's reservoir tank to shoot up his spike to jet down Megatron's throat - but within that microsecond of him stiffening with climax and the start of his ejaculation, Megatron flew off his spike, duck his helm out of firing range, and Starscream's moan of ecstasy transmuted into a helpless yowl as his spike spurted thick ropes of transfluid all over himself. 

Slumped in the throne, spike still twitching against the bottom of his cockpit, Starscream scowled at the warlord sitting back on his heels, wiping his smirking mouth on the back of his hand. 

"You- you-!" 

Megatron rose from his knees and leant over the throne, casting Starscream in shadow. He bowed his head to kiss the base of Starscream's clammy neck, and pressed shifting kissed up the slender column until he was breathing against Starscream's audial. 

"You think I don't know when you've about to overload?" His voice was as warm as his vents, low and melodic. 

Immune to his charming tricks, Starscream huffed and turned his head to glare at him, but was caught in a kiss instead. He responded begrudgingly, tasting the mild metallic tang of his own flavour on Megatron's tongue. 

"Would it have killed you to humour me?" He muttered, frame still warm and eager despite the softness of his spike. Between his legs his valve felt taut and wet. 

"No, but if your head gets any bigger you'll break your neck," Megatron kissed the edge of his jaw. Starscream tilted his helm back with a happy little trill, soiled cockpit forgotten for now. He sensed he was about to get considerably messier anyway. "Something tells me you're not done?" Megatron purred. 

Starscream looped his arms around his neck and pulled him down for a deeper, lingering kiss. It alternated between fiercely passionate and pauses of reverence, where Megatron would catch his tongue between his lips and suckle on it until Starscream whined. Starscream's valve panel had popped open with a mind of its own and was already leaking copiously over the knee Megatron had planted on the edge of the throne and was nudging between his thighs. 

Starscream slumped down the throne until his aft was hanging over the edge. Megatron lifted Starscream's legs behind the knees and eased himself into his valve, rocking his hips steadily deeper until he was hilted. Starscream clenched around him with a contented little sigh, his wing's causing a rattle against the back of the throne where they fluttered. Megatron bent over Starscream and started grind into him softly. 

It was a far cry from what they had come to expect of their interfacing as of late. With so many bothersome offspring that frequently barged through the doors of their quarters with little to no warning all hours of the cycle, there was a certain pressure on them to do things quickly. And even then they weren't safe from interruptions. Invicta and Thrax were just young enough not to find anything too suspicious about their parents flinging themselves away from each other or scrabbling for cover, all flustered and panicky, but Mission was one more walk-in away from needing therapy. 

It was a sad irony indeed that they were less likely to be interrupted in the middle of the very public throne room than they were their own berth. Starscream kept an optic on the doors as his gasping breaths turned to audible cries, just in case. He brought a servo to his mouth and bit down on it, desperate to muffle himself lest someone hear and come looking for them. Ruining all their fun. 

Desperate to finish he palmed his own spike and stroked it in time to Megatron's pumping thrusts. Megatron's dark optics flicked down in interest before he knocked Starscream's hand away and took it himself, engulfing his spike in his larger hand. A new pleasure bloomed through Starscream and had him writhing in the seat of the throne. Megatron squeezed him and he overloaded again with the shout. His valve clamped around Megatron, transfluid shot from his spike and this time jetted across Megatron's flat shiny chest plates in crisscrossing lines of pearlescent fluid. 

Starscream slumped, exhausted, and barely twitched when Megatron grunted and pumped into him languidly a few more times, before overloading himself. Rich, warmth filled Starscream's core. He sighed softly, tipping his head back as Megatron accosted him with a series of short indulgent kisses.

After a while he managed to get himself together, kicking against the floor to start pushing himself upright. Megatron eased out of him and wiped his hand through the mess on his chest, flicking his hand out and splattering fluid across the polished floor. 

Starscream wrinkled his nose as the specks of glistening evidence on the floor. "Don't advertise it." 

"No one will notice," Megatron sat an on the arm of his throne above him, peering down at him smugly. He reached for him and stroked the back of his fingers down his flushed cheek. Starscream batted him off. "We haven't done that in a while." 

"We did it this morning," Starscream muttered, tucking his tender spike back into his housing. 

Megatron's brow arched. "Not like that, we didn't." 

"And who's to blame for that?" Starscream snarled harshly. 

Megatron gaze darkened. He stared off into the distance. "Those demons you spawned." 

Starscream fixed him with a stern look. "Those 'demons' wouldn't be half the problem they are if you'd act like a competent sire for once, and took _care_ of them." 

"Take 'care' of them?" Megatron repeated with a note of suspicion. "What do you expect me to do with them? Lock them in the brig?"

"How can the mech most infamous for leading one of the universe's deadliest war factions be so inept at disciplining his own young?" 

"I _do_ discipline them," Megatron said heatedly. "But it has little weight when _you_ encourage their misbehaviour. Look at Mission." 

"It's too late for Mission," Starscream flapped a hand, hardly seeing any point in arguing over the eldest accident. "He'll never do as he's told, the _other two_..."

"-Are twice as disobedient," Megatron took Starscream's chin and titled his scowling face up. "Thanks to our contrasting parenting styles." 

Starscream tutted and yanked his head away. "We've never been a united front Megatron, in all our years at war, and I'm _not_ about to start playing your perfect sidekick now, just to make sure Thrax goes to recharge on time." 

Megatron went silent. Starscream looked at the lack of response, surprised, given that his refusal to work with Megatron was one of his leader's favourite arguments. 

"I've come to think of you as much more than a mere 'sidekick'," Megatron was watching him thoughtfully. "Something ...I've been meaning to speak with you about, in fact." 

Starscream sat up a little, his spark swirling around in his chamber. He was suddenly acutely aware of the fluid smeared across his cockpit and down his thighs. "...About?" 

"Conjunxing." 

For reasons completely beyond Starscream's logical understanding, his spark started pounding in his chest. His fingers went numb. His vocaliser stalled. He gave a stiff nod, words failing him for perhaps the first time in his entire life. 

"Starscream?" Megatron prompted. 

"I-" Starscream's attempt at mustering confidence abruptly evaporated the moment he tried to actually speak. "Ridiculous," he blurted quickly, stumbling over the word. "What's the point?" 

Megatron's left shoulder lifted in a casual, disinterested shrug. "A misguided idea of mine to make something about you honest." 

Starscream felt giddy.

"I'll think about it," he said coolly, hoping Megatron couldn't hear the shake in his voice. 

Megatron leant forward and caught him in another kiss. Slow and chaste and enchanting. Starscream moaned softly, pressing forwards. His voracious appetite awakened with a third, irrepressible surge. 

He wriggled wantonly, and Megatron made a soft noise against his lips, "You can't possibly still-?"

Starscream hitched a leg up and planted his pede flat against the seat of the throne. With a snap, he boldly opened his rear modesty panel, exposing his port. Megatron's optics widened with a start. 

Starscream smirked. "Yes." 

* * *

  
To avoid interrogations from nosy offspring regarding the cause of his nasty limp the next day, Starscream decided to fuel alone, hobbling quickly across the mess in hopes than no one noticed his twisted grimace. 

_What_ he had been thinking last night, he'd never know. The giddy feeling in his spark chamber still lingered, but that was no excuse for permitting Megatron a free pass to - to kick in his back door! 

He remained awkwardly stiff as he placed his cube on the table, and began to long, awkward process of swinging a leg over the bench and lowering himself to sit. Unmentionable places stung, and he suppressed a curse as he sat. He would have brought a pillow to sit on, but then he might as well have painted a sign across his wings detailing _exactly_ what he had let their leader do to him the night before. 

And all because Megatron had said he was _thinking_ of conjunxing him. _Thinking_. It wasn't even a proposal, just an absent thought he tossed out into the world with which to terrorise his second-in-command. 

Primus, when had he gotten so desperately domestic? 

"Hey Starscream," the bench jostled when Thundercracker sat down heavily beside him. Starscream winced and breathed through his olfactory when pain shot up his back. "You got a second?"

"No," Starscream growled, staying as perfectly still as he could manage. "I am busy." 

Thundercracker studied his unmoving posture for a moment, "Are you okay? You look a little-?"

"I was fine before you showed up," Starscream glowered, wishing he had just gone to the medbay, weathered the Constructicon's mocking, and gotten himself a cooling pad to sit on. "What the Pit do you want?" 

Were he not in so much discomfort he might have paid more attention to Thundercracker's clear distress. His trine-mate wrung his hands together on the table in front of him, struggling to lift his gaze. "Skywarp and I - we thought- I thought, that we should tell you, well, warn you-"

Starscream wasn't even listening, "Spit it out!" 

Thundercracker's mouth snapped shut. He looked down, recalculated, "...Have you ever thought about getting baffles installed?" 

That was not what Starscream had been expecting to hear from his trine-mate. It was also something he had _never_ wanted to hear from his trine-mate. Contraceptives were not something that civilised mecha discussed over their morning fuel. 

Perhaps in some trine's, where seekers were sickeningly close and _involved_ in one another business they did. The sort of seekers that over-shared every aspect of their boring little lives, who gossiped about their lovers and giggled over the raunchy details. 

Starscream scowled, not in the least bit interested in entertaining this sort of conversation. 

"No," he spat nastily, "but maybe you should. The way you and Skywarp go at it. The last thing this ships needs is more unwanted offspring." 

Thundercracker frowned sternly, looking offended, "You love your sparklings."

"Doesn't mean I wanted them," Starscream stuck his nose in the air, and regretted it when his rear throbbed. "Besides," he continued, in a slightly strained voice. "I don't need baffles-"

Thundercracker visibly slumped, "So, you and Megatron don't really-?"

"Don't be stupid," Starscream interrupted him, "I wouldn't put up with his snoring every night if I wasn't getting something good out of sharing a berth with him." He rolled his optics. "I don't need baffles. It's been years since Invicta. I think it's more than safe to say my gestation tank is dormant."

Thundercracker was wringing his hands together again. "But it could reactivate-" 

"Not without a medics interference," Starscream took a little sip of his fuel. "I have a full trine. There's no reason it would reactivate out of the blue and put my frame through all the stress of making another trio of fat-headed, broad-shouldered idiots." 

"...If another seeker were to become sparked though-?"

Starscream dropped his cube and let it spill over the table, whipping his helm in Thundercracker's direction, ignoring the shooting pain pulsing between his legs. "Someone is sparked?!"

"No!" Thundercracker blurted. "No. I meant, I just meant hypothetically."

Starscream turned back to his spilt cube with a sigh. 

"Hypothetically," he muttered. "You worry too much. No seeker would dare. It would trigger the gestation protocols of every unsuspecting flier on the ship, including mine. And I've _had_ my sparklings." he shot Thundercracker a hard look. "I am not going to let some irresponsible fool drag me down with them." 

Thundercracker had gone noticeably pale. He nodded, sadly, "Shouldn't you think about baffles anyway? Just in case?" 

"Get out of my sight, Thundercracker." 

There was a pause, then Thundercracker finally rose. Starscream waited until he was sure his trine-mate was out of audio range before leaning forward with a curse and bracing a hand to the small of his back. 

Slaggit, he needed a cold compress and something soft to sit on. 

And an apology from his idiot leader. 

* * *

  
Skywarp was stood flush against the bulkhead outside the mess, waiting for Thundercracker to come within reach. The second he saw dark blue armour he thrust a hand out and ensnared him. Thundercracker blurted out a cry of surprise as Skywarp abruptly teleported them across the ship into the thankfully deserted air-barracks. 

"Warp!" He protested, hands flying to his chest. "We talked about this! You can't do that to me!"

Skywarp's optics widened in fear, "Once and a while won't hurt though, right?" 

Thundercracker scowled unforgivingly. Skywarp offered a weak smile before giving up. "Alright, fine. We'll _walk_ around the ship." 

Thundercracker rubbed his hand up and down his cockpit, looking decidedly ungrateful for his sacrifice. "Thanks, I guess." 

"What were you talking to Screamer about? You didn't tell him, did you?"

"No I-" Thundercracker looked guilty, "-he wasn't in the best mood." 

Skywarp sighed in relief. 

"But but we have to tell him, Skywarp." 

"Why?! It's none of his business!" Skywarp protested. "He didn't tell _us_ when he was getting himself knocked up every other week. He doesn't tell us anything. He didn't even let us know he was alive all those vorns after he'd fragging abandoned us-"

Thundercracker was shaking his head, "He's not like that anymore-"

Skywarp scoffed. "This is our thing. I want to enjoy it for at least a little while before Screamer starts chewing us out for it. Or worse, gets _Megatron_ to do it for him-"

"We have to warn him, Skywarp," Thundercracker said seriously.

"He hasn't had a sparkling in nearly nine vorns," Skywarp protested.

"Because he has a full trine," Thundecracker hissed through his denta, the ache in his chest growing with stress. "We throw another seekerling out there to run loose about the ship, what do you think his protocols are going to do? They're going to re-open the slagging factory, Warp! Remember what they used to call it? 'The Lonely Seeker Protocol?'" 

Skywarp scrunched his face up. That was a problem. Trining had many advantages for seekers, and one of the most ancient of those were the reproductive protocols that liked to ensure seeker sparklings came in threes, providing them with their own trine as soon as coding possibly could. 

"Maybe he should get baffles," Skywarp conceded. 

"That's what I was talking to him about." 

"And?" 

"And!" Thundercracker threw up his hands. "What do you think he said?! It's Starscream." 

"Maybe we don't need to worry at all," Skywarp began grasping at straws. "Megatron's old now. Maybe they're not-"

"They are," Thundercracker growled. 

A horrible sense of foreboding came upon Skywarp then. He brought his hands up to his face in despair. "He's going to get sparked again, isn't he? He's going to kill us." 

"You." Thundercracker patted his cockpit proudly, "He's going to kill _you_. He can't kill me. I'm sparked." 

Skywarp grit his denta. "Hey! Unless you wanna raise that bitlet on your own-" he pointed at him. "-keep your mouth shut." 

Thundercracker frowned. "I dunno, Warp, single parenthood is starting to look kinda tempting." 


	2. Chapter 2

Megatron drifted in the blissful space between wakefulness and sleep; warm, comfortable, and entwined in the long limbs of a restless seeker, who's fragrant polish had faded enough to let through his natural musk. Megatron shifted onto his side to push his nose up against Starscream's helm, inhaling the aroma indulgently. 

Starscream hummed sleepily, rolling over to disentangled himself and slip his hands over Megatron's armour. Megatron felt him nuzzle closer, pushing his mouth to the hollow of Megatron's throat cabling. Lips began to pluck then suckle on his main fuel line, Starscream's fingers slipping into the seams of his abdominal paneling. 

"Starscream," he groaned, barely able to summon the energy to online his optics, let alone ravish his seeker with the enthusiasm the beautiful creature deserved. 

It was futile to resist. He rolled onto his back and Starscream followed, hands cupping his face and kissing him deeply. Their lips didn't come apart for even the barest moment as Starscream climbed over him with care, throwing a leg over Megatron's hips to straddle him. The sheets slipped down his back and pooled around Megatron's thighs behind him. 

They were one groping touch away from turning it into something much more heated when the door to their quarters _whooshed_ open without warning.

Starscream cursed and rolled off Megatron's lap in a flurry of sheets, cocooning himself in the covers in the process. Megatron sat up in surprise, blinking rapidly to focus his optics. 

"Mission!" Starscream snarled. "For the love of the thirteen-! This had better be important?!"

Their eldest son stood in their doorway, his hand pre-emptively shielding his optics and a decidedly unhappy frown plastered across his mouth. 

"Just letting you know that Invicta's attacking Thrax with the branding iron. Again." He called into the room casually, "If you still want him to _have_ a face by the time she's through with him, you should-"

Starscream roared in wordless frustration and began throwing the covers off, his mood swinging violently from impatiently frisky to furious in less than the time it took to blink. Megatron watched with understanding sympathy as a terrified Mission tried to make his escape, but with his optics still stubbornly covered, he ran and hit his wing against the doorframe and stumbled into a spin. He shouted a curse that Megatron suspected his son had overheard in one of the gestalt's rec rooms before disappearing into the corridor. 

Free of his fabric prison, Starscream balled up the sheets and threw them with force at Megatron's face. 

When Megatron dragged them off his head Starscream was leaning towards him menacingly from his side of the berth. "I am _this_ close to having her name put on The List." He held up his forefinger and thumb with -what looked to Megatron- no distance between them. "Your daughter is out of control!"

Megatron felt that was unfair. 

"She's more _your_ daughter than mine!" He protested. 

Starscream whirled away from him and stomped out of their room. 

"And stay in that berth!" Starscream's disembodied voice screeched. "I'm not finished with you yet!" 

Megatron slumped against the pillows with a huff, unsure if that would be something to actually look forward to. Starscream hadn't had a temper _this_ short since he'd carried Invicta. 

* * *

  
The use of tracking chips was unquestionably immoral and something straight out of the playbook of the corrupt Cybertronian council Megatron had thrown their very planet into devastating civil war to remove - when placed in the frame of an _adult_ for the purposes of imprisoning and controlling them, that is. 

When planted into the frames of the unruly offspring of that very same mech who had opposed their use at the time, it was very much so necessary. But no less immoral. 

Morality wasn't a particularly high priority in the minds of anyone aboard the _Nemesis_ though, so Soundwave elected not to concern himself with it a great deal as he used Invicta's chip to track the disobedient sparkling down at Starscream's behest. He didn't make a habit of taking orders from the Air Commander, but Starscream's unadulterated rage over the mornings incident had stirred him to action on Invicta's behalf. As unreasonable as Starscream could be, his daughter was thrice so, and putting the two of them together when emotions were all ready high ...was inadvisable. 

Naturally, he tracked her to the bridge, abandoned by all but the autopilot drones manning the nav-computers. She was sat in the captain's chair, feet dangling some distance from the floor, a data-pad in her lap. As Soundwave circled the chair he caught a glimpse of what she was watching; a fuzzy, discoloured recording of a young Megatron fighting in the gladiatorial arena. 

Soundwave's spark stirred with the rumination it brought to mind. 

"I see they sent an underling to reprimand me this time," she said cooly, still watching her sire duck, dive, and strike on the screen. "My discipline must be lower down their priority list than I thought." 

She sounded all of a million years old, but her apparent maturity wasn't going to get her out of trouble. Soundwave gripped the back of the chair and twisted it to face him. He took the data-pad from her grip, slowly, but firmly, and was pinned with the full force of her glower for his trouble; a unique and eery combination of both her parent's scowls.

"Branding irons; are not toys." 

"I wasn't playing with it," she folded her arms huffily. "We were practising." 

"Security footage would prove otherwise." 

Her glare darkened, "Well what else am I supposed to do? Sit around all day watching everyone else train and spar and go on patrols?!" 

"Affirmative." Soundwave stared firmly, knowing Megatron's wishes regarding his youngest's sparklings' involvement in warfare. "You will be presented with an opportunity to join our ranks when you are of age." 

"That-" she sat forward. "-Is not fair. Why am I the only one that has to wait?" 

She was beginning to sound much more like the eight vorns old she was now. "Thrax; is subject to the same rules." 

"But Thrax doesn't want to be a Decepticon!" Invicta protested angrily, little fists hitting the armrests. "He wants to ...pick flowers and ...hug Autobots!" She spat. " _Mission_ is a Decepticon-!"

"Mission is a mech." Soundwave reminded her. "Invicta; youngling." 

Her cheeks took on a pink tinge at the indignity of it all. "I hate being the youngest. It's like they think I'm still a sparkling." 

Soundwave handed her data-pad back, feeling an unexpected wave of sympathy. He nodded, "Parents; will always think of their offspring as sparklings. Irregardless of age." 

His statement did little to improve Invicta's mood. 

* * *

  
The burn on Thrax's bottom lip stung a little, but Invicta had only grazed him and the attention he was getting for being 'injured' more than made up for it. 

He sat on Scrapper's repair bench next to the barrel full of energon goodies -an addition added in Mission's youth, back when his older brother had cultivated a pretty dramatic fear of medics. Funny, seeing how his worst fear had now become his greatest aspiration.

It was impossible to sneak one of the treats into his mouth without the notice of his current audience though. Mission and Starscream's keen optics were directed straight at him. 

"It won't scar, will it?" Starscream demanded, his warm servo cupping Thrax's face, thumb stroking back and forth over his cheek. 

"I don't think so," Mission was cupping the other side of his face, leaning in close to look. 

Thrax's optics flicked between them, once again taken aback at how alike they looked. Mission had a squarer jaw, and Starscream sharper optics, but they looked much more related to one another than he did to them. He and Invicta were still seekers, but they were much bulkier, much more like sire. A small part of Thrax envied Mission and Starscream's inherent glamour-

"Thank Primus," Starscream muttered, hand sweeping down to take Thrax's chin and turn his face. "I don't want anything ruining his handsome little smile." 

"Thanks!" Thrax beamed at his creator for the compliment, proving that it would take more than a silly accident to diminish his smiles. 

Mission rolled his optics at such an open display of happiness, reaching for him again with a thumb smeared in some gelatinous substance. Thrax veered away in disgust. 

"His self repair will fix it, we just need to make sure it doesn't get infected," Mission explained, struggling to smear the gross looking stuff on Thrax's lip. Stsrscream grabbed his head in both hands and held him still. 

Mission rubbed it across the burn and Thrax pretended to gag. He accidentally tasted it in the process, and then really _did_ gag. "Ew! Yuck!"

"Stop it," Starscream growled threateningly. Thrax wisely stopped the dramatics. His lip had started to go numb and felt four times the size it should have. 

"Do you know why they were fighting?" Mission asked Starscream, as though Thrax wasn't there, wiping his thumb clean on an oil-stained rag. 

Starscream opened his mouth to answer-

"We weren't fighting!" Thrax protested. 

Mission folded his arms in that smug way of his - wearing the 'I'm a mature adult and you're a dumb sparkling' expression. "Then how'd you end up taking a branding iron to the face, smart aft?"

"She said 'dodge this'," Thrax mimicked Invicta flinging the branding iron at his face. "And I didn't." 

"Riveting story," his creator murmured sarcastically, nudging his back to tell him he was done. "Run along now." 

Thrax dropped down and flung his arms around Starscream's waist. As high as he could reach, in a brief but tight embrace, before darting away and out of the repair bay. With his creator's temper he had to be quick with his hugs today. 

He'd already been attacked by one family member today, and he hadn't even had his morning fuel yet. 

* * *

Starscream had been plagued by the same pulsing, aching feeling in his chest since Megatron had mentioned that damned word to him in the throne room- conjunxing. Urgh.

He had never given the outdated, elitist concept a great deal of thought - throughout his adult life that is. Before the war he was sure every naive, foolish young mecha had given it at least a passing thought. As for those who had gone through with it, he pitied them. Most of them would be widowers by now. 

Starscream's youthful delusion had been thankfully brief. He had long ago cast himself off as ...decidedly not conjunxing material. 

Megatron appeared to think otherwise. 

His spark throbbed again. He rubbed it in apprehension, nerves bubbling over into something that felt rather like sickness. Physical sickness. He shook his helm and told himself to get a grip. He wasn't going to purge his tanks out of nerves like some- some-

He lost his train of thought as the nausea swelled in him, and with a sharp mix of surprise and fear he realised he _was_ about to purge. 

Without a word of indication as it what he was doing, he the flung the daily brief data-pad he had been holding at a scandalously surprised Shockwave, and fled both the command deck and the bridge at as dignified a sprint as he could manage. He made it out into the corridor, but didn't have much hope of getting to the nearest wash-rack, or even just a trash chute. He punched the control panel for the first door he came across, and promptly threw up. 

Under someone's office desk. 

He lifted his head with a groan, optics landing on the neatly stacked data-pads before him, all addressed to Shockwave. 

Well, at least it hadn't been anyone important. 

Five minutes later he strolled back onto the bridge as though nothing was wrong. 

"Problem?" Shockwave murmured, handing his data-pad back to him. The screen was cracked where it had hit Shockwave in the optic. 

Starscream nodded stiffly and accepted it. "Everything is fine." 

His spark still rolled about in it's chamber unhappily. 

Well, it seemed that though conjunxing had not meant a great deal to him, conjunxing _Megatron_ was a different story entirely. 

* * *

Reports of an rebellion breaking out on an small planet important to vital Decepticon supply routes kept Megatron busy for the majority of the week. As negotiation between his small and admittedly ineffective diplomatic corps and the native inhabitants of the planet began to escalate into violence, he and Soundwave began to disagree on whether to include the crew of the _Nemesis_ in potential reinforcements. Megatron was loath to toss his elite crew into action flippantly- seeing as his eldest son now existed within those ranks. 

He was grumbling over Soundwave's stats when the doors to his office whooshed open on well oiled tracks to emit a visitor. There was no rattle of armour, signifying someone standing to attention, so he had to assume it was either one of his unruly offspring. Or his Second in Command. 

He grunted a greeting, and a gracefully winged figure rounded his desk to lean against his side. Megatron glanced upwards to see Starscream taking in Soundwave's reports. 

"You're not thinking of sending my sparkling into a war-zone, are you?" He began dangerously. 

Megatron wisely switched the data-pads off. "Not lightly, no." 

Starscream fixed him with a hard stare. "The correct response would have been a hard 'no'." 

"This crew hasn't seen action in over a year." Megatron found himself repeating Soundwave's earlier words to his Second. "They're growing complacent-"

Starscream turned around and sat himself heavily on the desk in front of Megatron, crushing some of the data-pads under his aft. Megatron scowled. "Very mature." 

"I wonder why you'd want to conjunx me, then," Starscream sniffed, looking away. 

Megatron paused at Starscream's tone, sensing his unhappiness. They hadn't discussed the possibility since he had mentioned it. He had assumed, perhaps incorrectly, that Starscream had been taken with the idea -given his enthusiastic response. 

"I take it you don't want to conjunx," Megatron began slowly, settling back in his seat to meet Starscream's gaze better.

"I didn't say that," Starscream said hastily, voice pitching up. "And don't change the subject. We're talking about Mission, not our disaster of a relationship."

"Disaster?" Megatron sat up in interest, unwilling to let it go now that he had said that. "What's so disastrous about it then? Beyond those three blasted sparklings?" 

Starscream was visibly chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Why now?" 

"Pardon?"

"Conjunxing! Why ask me now?!" Starscream demanded, planting a pede on the armrest of Megatron's chair and leaning in, his wings flared out behind him, shadowed like a demonic bat. "Why after all this time did it suddenly pop into your thick head to ask me?"

"I could ask you the same. Why did the thought never come to you to ask me?" Megatron turned it back on. 

"I would have asked you _years_ ago if I'd thought you were interested in that sort of nonsense," Starscream's cheeks glowed. " _And_ I would have done it properly! I wouldn't have done it with you covered in ...filth, as some sort of weird afterthought to fragging you. I would have committed to the concept. Romanced you. Brought you some hideous bouquet of crystals, or something equally idiotic." 

"You want me to ask you 'properly'?" Megatron felt amusement surging through him despite the ridiculousness of the situation. "You want me down on one knee, reciting poetry?"

"Don't you dare," Starscream pointed. "I can't stand your poetry." 

"Then what do you want, Starscream?" Megatron laid a hand on his thigh, stroking fondly. "You want to stay a free, single creator of three for the rest of your days?" 

Starscream's scowl was thunderous. "I. _Want_. To conjunx you." He said stiffly, every word sounding pained. "But not on some ridiculous whim of yours." 

Megatron massaged his thigh indulgently, before taking his hips and dragging him towards the edge of the desk, till he was sat bracketed between two glossy white thighs. "It wasn't a whim." 

"Then what took so long?" 

Megatron leant forward, until his helm was touching Starscream's cockpit. He exhaled against it heavily, fogging the glass with his breath. "They're not so little anymore." 

Who he was referencing was unmistakable. He felt Starscream lift a hand to stroke the back of his helmet, claws scratching armour lightly. "You only just noticed?"

"They won't tolerate us forever," Megatron murmured. "When they leave, it'll be just the two of us." 

Starscream's stroking stopped. "You think I'll leave you?" 

"It wouldn't be the first time." 

There was a long pause. Megatron shuttered his optics, bracing himself for the explosion. 

Then Starscream's servo lifted away and came back down around the side of his helm with a firm smack. Megatron winced, veering away with the blow, but didn't get far before Starscream's claws caught his collar seam and hauled him back in for a brutal, clumsy kiss. Megatron grunted in surprise, chair scrapping across the floor as he pushed it back to stand. 

Starscream broke the kiss with a breathless pant, "why are you always so _stupid_?"

Megatron kissed him again, a rumbling purr rising through his chassis. Starscream shivered and locked his legs around him, arms looping around his back, clinging to him like a space-limpet. They kissed for some time, tongues slipping past lips and twining together, fingers wandering places they shouldn't.

Megatron rumbled his engines and bent over Starscream, urging him back against the desk. Starscream began to squirm, and thinking the seeker wanted him to hurry up and initiate the next step, Megatron slithered his hand between their frames to cup Starscream's panel. 

Starscream wretched his mouth from his with a sharp, "No-!"

Megatron flung himself back, an apology barely out of his mouth before Starscream was throwing himself backwards off the desk and sprinting out the door without a word. Megatron stood in surprise for a moment, before darting after him in concern. 

"Starscream, what-?!"

Out in the corridor white wings disappeared into a door in his right and Megatron rushed after him, shouldering through closing doors and knocking them off their track to slip in after him, just in time to see Starscream drop to his knees, yank open a waste chute, and retch into it violently. 

Megatron took a stumbling step back. 

"You're unwell," he stated awkwardly, unused to witnessing any sort of vulnerability from his second. 

Starscream hunched his shoulders and hung his helm, voice thick and nasally. "I don't think I am." 

Megatron watched apprehensively as he clambered back to his pedes, bracing a hand against the bulkhead. He straightened up and stared down at his chest plates. Realisation began to dawn on Megatron. 

"No," he shook his helm, moving forwards. "Hook said you were done. Dormant."

Starscream scowled unhappily, steadied himself with a deep breath, and transformed away his cockpit and chest plating. 

His spark glowed bright, orbited by not one, but two tiny specks of light. 

The string of curses Starscream spat out would have scandalised even the likes of Motormaster. 


	3. Chapter 3

Thundercracker entered the air barracks looking solemn. Skywarp stopped throwing his spring ball against the bulkhead, sensing this would be serious. 

"Are you okay? Is the new-spark-?"

Thundercracker hushed him furiously, rushing the rest of the way to his side. They were alone in the barracks, but living aboard the _Nemesis_ one never knew where Soundwave's spies lurked. "I'm fine." Thundercracker muttered. "But haven't you heard?" 

"Heard what?" 

"Starscream. He's sparked." 

Skywarp dropped his spring ball. It bounced under one of the nearby bunks. "Whu- _really_?!" He rubbed the back of his helm. "How'd he take it? Is he happy?" 

Thundercracker rolled his optics, "He's fraggin' ecstatic, Warp." 

Skywarp wanted to slump back in relief. "Thank Primus-"

"I'm being sarcastic!" Thundercracker snarled ferociously. "Of course he's not taking it well, he was _done_ with sparklings, and now he's having twins!" 

"Twins!?" Skywarp cried, hysterical laughter rising out of his vocaliser almost beyond his control. "Poor Screamer has no luck!" 

"What are we going to do?" Thundercracker began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. "We should have told him right away-"

"C'mon TC, our lives don't revolve around Starscream," Skywarp protested. "And in case you've forgotten, _we_ weren't the ones that got him knocked up. The blame lies entirely with _Megatron_. And Starscream for alway putting out," he added as an after thought. "They should have used contraception." 

" _We_ should have used contraception." 

"Should have, would have, could have," Skywarp shrugged, flopping back to his bunk. "Stop living in the past, TC. What's done is done. You're sparked. Starscream is sparked - with _twins_. And they, now we don't have to worry about having anymore of our own. Screamer's done the work for us. Little 'Warp Jr is gonna have a ready-made trine." 

"Don't you ever call my sparkling Warp Jr again," Thundercracker threatened him darkly, far less accommodating of his jokes since the chemical imbalance of his carriage had started muddling up his emotions. "And when Starscream gets over the _shock_ of what's happened to him and starts pointing fingers, _you're_ the one who is going to tell him about that little flight we took around the Freyna System where you told me that _once_ without precautions wouldn't hurt." 

"Hey," Skywarp folded his arms behind his helm, "it's no more my fault for seducing you than it is your's for being so pretty." 

Thundercracker scoffed and turned away, "Shut up, Skywarp." 

"I hate to see you go Thundercracker, but I love to watch you walk aw-"

"Shut _up_ , Skywarp!" 

Skywarp shut up. 

* * *

  
Starscream had not deigned to rise for his bridge shift that morning, which did little to aid the rumours already running rampant through the ship. Starscream wasn't the sort to gossip about himself, and Megatron certainly hadn't advertised his mate's condition, so he was thrown at how rapidly the news had gotten out. 

No one was yet to have the ball-bearings to openly congratulate him either, which implied it was also common knowledge that the news hadn't been met with the best reaction. In his presence the troops were quiet and respectful, but he could sense the invisible lines of private comm messages being sent back and forth. Every passing moment of stifling silence on the bridge was another moment his crew were too busy messaging one another to speak. 

Megatron couldn't tolerate it. And he couldn't stand loitering around the bridge when Starscream was back in their quarters, alone, hiding under a mountain of sheets with Primus-only-knew what going through his head. 

"You have control," he told Soundwave, slipping by his stoic lieutenant and making his way swiftly towards the exit. 

Yet more concerning was that it had been a full morning and Megatron was yet to be accosted by unhappy offspring. Mission had a track record of overblown responses to unwanted younger siblings, and Invicta had been doted on as the youngest for so long now he wasn't sure how she was going to take it.

He soon leaned why he had been left well enough alone when he arrived in the corridor housing his family's private quarters, where his door was being held open by two indignant young seekers. 

Mission and Invicta turned at his approach and stared him down, the force of their disapproval startling him with how eerily alike their creator they could be. 

"Move," he demanded, shouldering past them both and into the room. 

On his berth lay the remaining half of his growing family unit; Starscream laying with an arm thrown across his optics and Thrax cuddled up next to him, his head pillowed on his creator's chest. 

Starscream dropped his arm away from his face to glare at him. 

There was a beat of silence before every last one of them starting complaining at once.

"Why does the whole blasted ship know I'm sparked!?"

"- did _I_ have to hear it from Ramjet?!"

"-thought we'd agreed years ago that you weren't going to have any more sparklings!"

"-going to be so much fun!" Thrax exclaimed, the one singular happy voice out of the lot, shocking everyone else's complaints into silence. "I hope they're a seeker too," he continued, oblivious. "I can teach them to barrel-roll!"

" _You_ don't know how to barrel-roll," Mission reminded him. 

"Now that you're having another sparkling, are you finally going to stop smothering me?" Invicta asked coolly, peering around the doorframe to glare at her creator. 

Starscream glared right at her, "Don't be stupid." 

She opened her mouth to start an argument, and fully versed in how long _those_ could go on for between Starscream and the only seeker to have ever been sparked capable of matching him for stubbornness, Megatron swiftly stepped between them. "That's enough. Get out." 

Mission and Invicta immediately started to whinge at him. 

"-can't just evict us from the conversation-!" 

"-don't expect me to sparkling-sit-"

"This is not a democracy!" Megatron thundered, thrusting a finger at the door. "Out. Both of you!"

"I get to stay, right?" Thrax's soft voice asked from the berth, where he was clinging to his creator. 

Megatron had almost forgotten him among Mission and Invicta's protests. "No," he slipped hands under his son's arms and hoisted him up out of the berth with a grunt of exertion. Thrax wasn't a sparkling anymore, and was at least a third bigger than Mission had been at the same age. 

He set Thrax down in the doorway and nodded at all three of them to get moving. 

With resentful stares they shuffled off. Megatron sealed the door behind them, knowing they wouldn't be gone for long. 

"You can get out too," Starscream spat, rolling onto his side to present his back and wings. "This is all your fault" 

"I told no one." 

"Well then who-?" Starscream stiffened for a moment, then sighed. "Fragging Shockwave..." 

Megatron took a seat on the edge of the berth, "He's not someone you would usually confide in-"

"I didn't tell that cyclops freak anything," Starscream muttered. "He must have figured it out after I ...violently vomited all over his office." 

"How long have you been purging for?" Megatron leant over Starscream's reclined form to better see his face. Given Starscream's penchant for hiding things of this nature from him, he was a little suspicious. 

"Don't lean at me," Starscream shoved his face back with a hand, "I didn't know - I just thought I was sick." He looked away. "I didn't realise you'd gone and sparked me again." 

Megatron laid down next to him and stared up at the ceiling. There was no mistaking the unhappiness in Starscream's voice, and he couldn't ignore the obvious decision they would now need to make. He had so far been careful not to give any indication as to what he was feeling, adverse to the idea of affecting Starscream's decision. 

"What do you want to do?" He asked softly. 

He heard Starscream shift beside him. "They're twins, Megatron." 

"I know." 

"They're going to be loud and useless and they'll never leave us alone!" 

"Hmm." 

"We're already outnumbered!" 

"Yes." 

"And sparklings are always so dirty." 

They lay in silence for a while longer. Megatron remembered for the first time in years how small and delicate sparklings were. How ridiculous their little wings nubs and round fat faces looked. 

Starscream sighed heavily and murmured something so softly Megatron didn't catch it.

"Sorry?"

"I said, I want to keep them!" Starscream snapped like he was being forced to repeat something embarrassing. "It's not ideal and I want to _kill you_ for putting me through this again but I want the stupid little things. I kept Mission, didn't I? And that wasn't fragging ideal..." 

A smile began to work it's way across Megatron's face. He found Starscream's servo on the berth next to his and let their pinkies brush. "Alright," he said steadily. "Then we'll keep them." 

"Oh, don't act like you weren't desperate for more," Starscream muttered. "I can read you like a data-pad, you broody old codger. I suppose you don't have to conjunx me now either, seeing as you have once again managed sparkling-trap me." 

Megatron rose and swung a leg over Starscream's frame, bracing himself above him and caging him between his limbs. Starscream twisted and turned to escape him, but Megatron managed to catch him in a deep, intimate kiss. He succumbed fairly easily, arching under Megatron's frame. 

"Being sparked isn't going to get you out of conjunxing me," Megatron breathed, kissing down Starscream's long neck. "You are mine, seeker." 

Starscream chuckled darkly, writhing luxuriously between his kisses. "Alright, but you can be the one to tell Mission he's back on sparkling-sitting duties." 

* * *

  
As the situation on Troja Minor, the planet rebelling under their rule, worsened, so did Starscream's sensitive condition. 

Megatron was forced to split his time between remotely organising a defence of their forces on the planet without attracting Autobot notice, and keeping his increasingly foul tempered Second busy enough that he was not tempted to become meaningfully involved in tactics. 

Starscream tended to enact rash military decisions at the best of times. The last thing anyone needed was the seeker getting access to the bridge comm and ordering Strika to mobilise her warship and bombard the planet from orbit, eradicating both the native insurgents, their own Decepticon ground troops, and therefore the problem, all in one swoop. 

To top it off, Megatron was facing mounting pressure from his own restless crew, who day-in day-out brawled and fought amongst one another in absence of a better outlet for their violent tendencies, _and_ his own keen-to-prove-himself son. All of whom wanted to be put to good use and were making increasingly compelling cases as to why the Nemesis itself should be one of the crews sent to deal with the problem. 

Megatron would give Strika a few days more to handle the situation. 

In the mean time, Starscream had deteriorated to such a point where, not only was he unfit for battle, but he could barely be relied upon to perform any of his regular duties. The twin sparks were far more taxing on his systems than any of his previous carriages, and as much as he spat and hissed and insisted that he was fine, it was a struggle to get any sort of productivity out of him. He fell asleep in the captain's seat on the bridge. He couldn't find the spare processing power to assess his own airforce's flight drills. He screamed himself hoarse at anyone who tried to speak to him. And his reports were sent half finished and nonsensical, like he'd given up after the first sentence and called it a day. 

Had any other mech performed so incompetently they would now be enjoying a fortnight in the brig, carrying or not. Never before had Megatron's favouritism been so blatant. He could not allow it to continue. 

To make matters worse, the only spark brave enough, across the entire ship, who was willingly to exist in Starscream's unhinged presence was Thrax - whose sunny disposition Starscream seemed to think of as mockingly insensitive to his own deplorable temperament. 

And Thrax, who had been far too young at the time of his younger sister's emergence to recall what sparklings were like, was bombarding his poor creator with excitable questions. 

Megatron found the two of them together on the observation deck above the bridge, Starscream slumped against the safety bars and Thrax, stood at the height of Starscream's shoulders now, swinging off his arm. 

"Orion is a cool constellation though, isn't it?" He was saying, pointing up at the stars. "Maybe you can call one of them that?" 

"I doubt your sire would approve." 

"Why's that?" 

"None of your business," Megatron interrupted to announce his presence, emerging out of the stairway. "If you don't mind Thrax, I'd like a moment with your creator alone." 

"Mission and Hook say you're not allowed to fight until after he's had the sparklings." Thrax informed him pleasantly.

"We're not going to fight," Megatron forced his tone into something even and calm. "Believe it or not, we can have a conversation without it turning into a screaming match." 

Thrax didn't look convinced, but he did leave. Megatron pinged one of his wings fondly as he passed by, and Thrax's dazzling smile left an odd sort of pride lingering in his chest long after he'd disappeared. 

But considering the conversation he was about to have with his Second, that feeling wasn't going to stick around for long. It was best not to drag this out. 

He drew level with Starscream, leaning against the same safety bar as he tipped his head back to observe the stars. "You're stepping down as Air Commander. Soundwave and I have already made the arrangements. A brief has been forwarded around the ship." 

Starscream stiffened, stunned. Despite his rapid downwards spiral, he somehow hadn't seen this coming.

" _Why_?!" He demanded. 

Megatron draw his gaze from the stars and looked pointedly at the seeker's chest. "You know why." 

"I didn't have to step down when I was carrying Thrax-" Starscream began. 

"Because no one _knew_ you were carrying Thrax."

"-Or Invicta!"

"Not for lack of me _trying_ ," Megatron growled, "and neither of those carriages did _this_ to you. The decision had been made." 

"This is just to shut me out of that situation on Troja Minor, isn't it?" Starscream accused him. 

"Of course it is," Megatron didn't see any point being nice about it. "Strika and I have the situation under control, and your input is not only unnecessary, but frightening. This is the only way I can be sure you won't mood-swing yourself into committing a genocide." 

Starscream didn't even deny that that was a possibility. "Fine. Let the situation deteriorate. Lose the planet. Lose a tenth of your forces fighting those primitive rock people-!"

"Starscream-"

"And just _who_ is going to be taking on my duties in my absence?" Starscream demanded. "Thundercracker and Skywarp? You know those two morons have been avoiding me?! I've barely seen them outside of flight drills! They're hiding something! You should be demoting them, not me!" 

"Your paranoia is not helping your case," Megatron warned him. "But no, they will not be covering your duties. I was thinking of allowing-"

"No." Starscream cut him off immediately, optics pinked and panicked. 

"If you'll allow me to speak-"

"No." Starscream thrust a digit in his face. "You're going to say Mission, and I told you-"

"I am." 

Starscream stamped a pede, acting startlingly alike his own juvenile daughter. "You can't give him a command role now! You're on the verge of sending this crew into a war-zone!" 

"Nothing has been decided." 

"He's too young! It's too much responsibility, and it's _blatant nepotism_ -"

"He is the same age you were when I made you my Air Commander. Are you saying my judgement was skewered then? That I pushed you into something you weren't ready for?" 

"I wasn't as young as he is and _I_ proved myself worthy of the position." 

"So he isn't worthy?" Megatron tilted his helm, trying to understand. 

"That's not what I said," Starscream snarled. 

"Then why can't he do this?" 

"Because he's a sparkling!"

Megatron felt his temper start to fray, "He's a mech-"

"He's _my_ sparkling!" Starscream snarled. "And you've wanted to thrust him into a leadership role from the minute he upgraded! How is this any different to Invicta-?"

"She _is_ a sparkling-"

"She wants to learn to fight, let her learn to fight!"

"We are not having this conversation," Megatron forced himself back on track, slicing his hand through the air between them. "You are stepping down. Mission will be Acting Air Commander under the supervision of Soundwave and your trine-"

"I said-"

"I _heard_ what you said," Megatron interrupted harshly, "I have listened to your ridiculous, _emotional_ protests, and my decision is final. As this is my ship and he is my son-"

"He's mine first!" Starscream spat, optics burning vengefully, words punching Megatron in the chest like a physical blow. "I didn't carry him and raise him and protect him all these years just for you to toss him out with the rest of the cannon fodder as soon as he came of age!"

Megatron was struck speechless at how cruel those words sounded. Coming from Starscream no less. 

"Yours first?" He repeated. 

Some of the anger faded from Starscream's optics when he heard them back. His shoulders slumped a little in regret, "Well, I-"

Megatron didn't want to hear any more. He turned swiftly and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

Megatron didn't return to their quarters that evening. Starscream sat up in their berth, staring at an open message draft, alternating between feelings of swooping guilt and indignant frustration. 

Megatron accused _him_ of being emotional?! When Megatron was going to ignore him and leave him to recharge all night alone? When he was carrying? How immature and selfish. 

None of this was Starscream's fault. Because of course he was going to ...say horrible, cruel things that he didn't really mean to the sire of his sparklings because he was a little uncomfortable. Surely by now that mech had learnt to take the things he said with a pinch of sodium. 

And what the Pit was Starscream even expected to say to lure that fool back to him? 'Sorry'?! With Megatron's predisposition for holding grudges that wasn't going to be anywhere near good enough. 

His infuriatingly unpredictable chemical imbalances were starting to make his optics burn. He wiped them furiously, sniffing in the dark. 

He thought about it a moment longer before deleting the draft and hailing an entirely different frequency. 

Ten minutes later, his trine were already waiting for him in the deserted hanger rec-room, lounging across the furniture. Starscream strode in stoically, ignoring the swoop of palpable relief he felt that came with seeing they weren't _really_ avoiding him.

Perhaps he was being a tad paranoid. 

"Heard you've been demoted," Skywarp said straight off the bat, not an iota of tact written into his programming. 

"I have not been demoted," Starscream bit out, coming to stand before them with his fists planted on his hips, reminding them, through stance alone, that rank or no they would always be subordinate to him. "I stood down of my own volition." 

Thundercracker and Skywarp shared a disbelieving look. "Really, because Mission told us Thrax overheard you two arguing." 

Starscream felt abruptly sick at the thought of Thrax overhearing what he had said to Megatron. He sat on the arm of the soda heavily. Skywarp was next to him a moment later, hovering in concern.

"You're not gonna be sick are you?"

Starscream shook his helm numbly. "I am ...having a bad day," he admitted vaguely. 

A hand fell between his wings and fingers stroked up his spinal strut soothingly. Starscream leant sideways, towards Skywarp, and the moment he realised his trine-leader was actually initiating physical affection Skywarp drew him into something of a sly embrace, dragging him off the arm of the sofa and across the seat cushions, halfway into his lap. 

Starscream scoffed in weary disgust. 

The sofa dipped as Thundercracker took a seat on his other side, and there was something about his other trine-mate's presence, a sense, an _aura_ , that seemed to draw Starscream in. He twisted out of Skywarp's grasp, shoved him away, and looped his arms around Thundercracker's neck instead. 

Thundercracker hesitated a moment before embracing him back, curling an arm about his waist and hooking a hand around the back of Starscream's knee to lift his legs across his lap. 

"Those twins are really messing with your head, huh?" Skywarp commented smugly, watching Starscream turn his face into Thundercracker's neck. 

"Among other things," Starscream muttered, not thinking of the empty berth awaiting him in his quarters. "I need you to do something for me." 

Skywarp sighed. "Great. What _now_?" 

"Mission," Starscream lifted his head from Thundercracker shoulder. "He's being promoted to acting Air Commander-"

Skywarp blinked. "That's ...good?" 

"No," Starscream's claws bit into Thundercracker's shoulder. "Not when those imbeciles on Troja Minor can't beat back a hoard of primitive rocks for any longer than five minutes. You know as well as I do that Strika will be calling back soon enough and reporting that the situation is still deteriorating. And you know who he's going to send into combat next!" 

Thundercracker and Skywarp shared a nervous look, their complexions paling. "Us?"

"And my sparkling," Starscream snarled. "And I can't be with him if he does! I need you," he grabbed Skywarp's chin and ripped it up. "I need both of you to swear to me that you'll be with him, watch over him, kill anything that so much as looks his way-" 

"Mission's a pretty tough mech, Screamer," Skywarp wasn't getting the gravity of this situation. "After all the slag he went through as a youngling, I don't think-"

"Promise me," Starscream demanded, vocaliser cracking with emotion. "Just..."

"Alright," Skywarp held up his hand. "Yeah, if we get deployed, we'll look after him. Don't worry." 

Thundercracker went worryingly stiff against Starscream at Skywarp's words; but their promise was all Starscream needed. 

* * *

  
Mission spent the morning wracking his processor for what he could have possibly done that would warrant his sire summoning him to the throne room. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to stand at the bottom of the dais and sheepishly meet Megatron's gaze to explain what had possessed him to perform whatever childish mis-endeavour he been caught in _that_ time. His first instinct was to blame Invicta, as in her adolescent boredom she had developed a very Starscream-like hobby for framing other mecha for her wrongdoings. 

He wiped all traces of guilt and apprehension from his expression before entering the throne room, reminding himself that as an adult, his sire couldn't actually ground him anymore. And as his son, he wasn't likely to brig him either. 

Megatron was sat in his throne with his cheek resting on his fist, a contemplative frown set upon his ageing features. He looked up when Mission entered and straightened with a beckoning wave of his digits.

"Sir," Mission dipped his helm in greeting, hoping to soften whatever unpleasantness his sire had planned for him and knowing that addressing him formally would go some ways towards doing so. Megatron had been trying to instil some basic social etiquette in him since the day they had met. 

But Megatron didn't react with the sort of surprised satisfaction he had expected. If anything, his frown deepened. 

"Come here, Mission," He said tiredly, rising from his throne and gesturing to Mission to join him behind it, so they could take in the stars through the view port at the back of the ship. The lower edge of their view glowed with the faint illumination from the ship's thrusters below. When Mission fell into place beside his sire, a hand reached for his shoulder. 

Mission couldn't help it. He crinkled his nose. 

"You're not dying, are you?" Mission asked, worried at his strangely solemn sire. "Because Invicta may only be eight but Starscream's pretty run down and I think it'd be a pretty close race between them for leadership." 

Megatron dropped his hand away with an exhausted noise. "I am not _dying_ , you insensitive little reprobate." 

"I'm not 'little' anymore," Mission reminded him smugly. 

"You are to me," His sire growled, turning to look down his nose at him. 

The humour faded from his expression quickly though. He turned back to the viewport with a sigh. "But as you so aptly put yourself; your creator is not himself these days." 

Mission felt his chest tightened. He had seen Starscream carry Thrax and Invicta with little to no issue, breezing through their gestations when for so many carriers building a sparkling was one of the most taxing ordeals a mech could go through. Twins were always going to come with their own set of issues, but to see his flawless, unshakable creator go through such an emotional and physical strain day in day out-

And his sire was obviously more disturbed by it than even he was. "Which is what I wanted to discuss with you." 

"He's going to be okay, right?" Mission moved to stand in front of his sire, blocking his view of the stars. "He's not -I don't know- too old for this sort of thing now, is he?" 

Megatron blinked in surprise, "For the sake of every life aboard this ship, don't let _him_ hear you call him too old. No, he will be fine. I've taken steps to _ensure_ he'll be fine." 

Mission felt that sounded rather ominous. 

"He's agreed to step down from his formal duties commanding the airforce as he weathers the worst of his carriage," Megatron continued. 

"Agreed?" Mission quirked a brow. 

The corner of Megatron's mouth curved upwards. "In his place, you will take on his day-to-day duties." 

Mission blinked. "Me?" 

Megatron nodded proudly, "With the assistance of your creator's trine. Of course." 

Mission couldn't fight his smile, thinking of Skywarp's disobedience and Thundercracker's apathy towards leadership roles. Between the three of them this was going to be an unmitigated disaster. And he couldn't wait. "Are they going to be much help?"

"Not likely," Megatron took Mission's shoulders and held him at arms length, looking him up and down. "But it's more for your creator's peace of mind than anything else. You are more than capable of this and I have every faith in you. Starscream is simply..."

"Finding it hard to let go?" Mission sighed in exasperation. 

"Among other things," his sire agreed softly, letting his hands slip away. "Off with you now. And I'd avoid your creator if you can. He's in rare form this week. Your self confidence is unlikely to survive an encounter." 

"Same as every week then," Mission slipped around his sire's towering frame and skipped down off the steps. "Bye sire- I mean, _Sir_." 

A rare smile graced Megatron's mouth. "'Sire' is fine, Mission," he said softly. 

* * *

  
Thrax was sat in Shockwave's lab with a bowl of sweet iced-energon, throughly enjoying himself as he shovelled it down and pretended to follow whatever scientific nonsense Shockwave was droning on about. Participating in these weekly 'lessons' was a win-win in Thrax's opinion, not only was Starscream brimming with pride over his apparent interest in the sciences, but in order it keep him sitting still and quiet for the full session, Shockwave plied him with bowl after bowl of treats. 

"-and combining these elements in these exacting measurements should create a cloud of noxious gas capable of knocking out a full grown-"

The door whooshed open without warning, Invicta's demanding shout of "Thrax!" surprising Shockwave enough that his hand slipped and corrosive chemicals spilled across the workstation. Thrax lifted his iced-energon above his head to save it as Shockwave frantically moved to clear the workstation of compounds to stop the spread of chaos. 

Thrax scooped another spoonful into his mouth, watching. 

"Invicta," Shockwave announced hauntingly, arms brimming with vials and beakers as he turned his one intense optic on her. "Have you finally taken an interest in-?"

"Shockwave, please," Invicta held up a hand, "Don't insult me. I'm here for my brother." 

"Your brother and I are at a vital stage in our experiment." 

"It's okay, Shockwave," Thrax announced cheerfully, setting down his now empty bowl. "I've finished my iced-energon." 

"You've-?" Shockwave appeared momentarily speechless. 

Thrax hopped down from his stool and let Invicta snatch him by the wing, dragging him out of the door before Shockwave could stop them. 

"Why do you sit through that?" She muttered, still pulling him along despite him being fully willing to follow her. 

"Free fuel," Thrax shrugged. 

"You're fed enough," she scowled. 

"Yeah, boring energon," Thrax shook off her grip and bounced ahead, flicking his wings out and coming close to flapping her in her scowling face with one. "Shockwave lets me have the good stuff."

Invicta muttered something that sounded like words their parents wouldn't approve of at all, leaping forward and tripping him with her foot. He stumbled with a good natured laugh.

"You heard about our revered new Air Commander?" She sneered. 

"Yeah," Thrax doubled back when she turned down a corridor without him, heading towards the stairs that took them to the ship-level housing the armouries. "Is creator retiring?"

"No, idiot. He's sparked." 

"So?" 

Invicta flashed him an exhausted look over her wing. By then they had arrived outside the main armoury. Invicta stepped to the side and pointed to the computerised lock. "Just open the door." 

"We're gonna get caught," Thrax muttered, but closed his hands around the security panel anyway and began to prise away the protective durasteel casing that had been installed over all of the locks in recent years to keep them out. He wasn't Mission, so he couldn't hack the system, but security had relaxed somewhat in recent months, ever since their elder brother had developed this new 'responsible' streak of his. 

Thrax strained, tugged, and with a snap, the casing came away. Invicta leant against the bulkhead to watch as he punched his fist through the bottom of the exposed machinery and ripped out all the cables. The red light to indicate the lock was active faded to black. Invicta elbow the door and it opened on it's emergency release with a hiss. 

"It should have been me," Invicta muttered, striding into the armoury. 

Thrax followed her sedately, looking up at the wall-to-ceiling cabinets full of weapons. 

"Mission isn't even interested in leadership," she continued, deactivating the shielding over the blades and snatching up a knife. She twirled it between her fingers. "All he cares about is his thankless aspirations to be a _medic_. Why would Sire pick him?!"

"Because you're too little?" Thrax guessed. 

"I'm not delusional," Invicta muttered. "If sire doesn't let me handle weapons, he's not going to leave me in charge of his entire airforce. I just assumed the role would be given to someone with more experience. To someone who actually _wants_ it." 

She was tossing the knife up and down in the air as she spoke. Thrax watched it come down spinning with a wince every time, visions of it impaling her palm, or slipping her grasp and imbedding itself in her foot filling his processor. The very reason she was never allowed free-range with the weapons was because of so many careless accidents in her youth. 

It wouldn't be the first time she'd dropped a knife on her own pede. 

"You're not all that great at flying," Thrax pointed out, at the risk of having that knife thrown his way. 

"Neither are you," Invicta growled. 

"Better than _you_ , wonky wings." 

She pointed the knife at him. "What if Mission changes his mind after this? Gets a taste for power? Decides leadership is for him after all? 

Thrax shrugged. "Who cares. Not like sire's going to roll over and let any of us take his place." 

"Sire isn't going to live forever, Thrax," 

Thrax felt an awful stirring in his spark at her words. "Don't say stuff like that."

"It's true," Invicta stuffed the knife into her subspace. "He's going to get older and slower and weaker, and if someone doesn't make him understand that and stand down before it's too late, he's just going to learn it the hard way. Do you want that to happen? To hear through the comms one cycle they some honour-less Autobot got the better of him?" 

"No," Thrax murmured softly. 

"Then we had better be ready," Invicta said sternly, hefting a large gun down and balancing it in her arms. "When they're gone, it'll be our duty to fight in and _win_ this war in their honour." 

Thrax watched her load the weapon and point it, testing it's sight, not for the first time, feeling a little taken aback at his younger sister's intensity. 

He could only hope the little siblings his creator was making for him right now would be a little easier to dote on than she was. 

* * *

After Mission had excitedly sprung on him that he was, in fact, now acting air commander ( _"don't worry creator, I won't make you call me sir"_ \- for the first time since Starscream had pushed his inflated little head out of his frame on the day of his emergence, he was tempted to hit his own offspring) Starscream could only deduce that Megatron would not be joining him in berth that night either, and that their argument was only going to fester. 

Well, seeing the stubborn old bastard was going to deliberately go against his wishes anyway Starscream was _glad_ he'd hurt his feelings. Mission was excited, but his idiotic son was barely out of his adolescent years and didn't know what was good for him, and Starscream expressing his concern would only compel the brat dig his heels in. 

"I thought you'd decided against leadership?" Starscream queried tactfully through his gritted teeth, working very hard to keep the scowl from his face.

"I did," Mission seemed to stand a little taller, with his wings held a little higher, brimming with his own self-satisfaction - Starscream only felt angrier and angrier with Megatron. "And I might just expire from the boredom of all the admin, but.." He trailed off. 

"What?" Starscream pressed, hoping he was about to admit that he didn't want these responsibilities thrust on him after all. 

"I want Megatron to be-" Mission turned his head in clear embarrassment. "I just want to do a good job." He finished. 

Starscream's spark ached unpleasantly as the implication sunk in. Mission wanted Megatron to be proud of him, blissfully unaware that he already had his sire's approval in spades, had always had it. Even if the old mech was woefully inept at showing it at times. 

Starscream swallowed down the disenfranchising comments he'd rehearsed and forced himself to express a twitching smile. "He couldn't have picked a better replacement," he managed, sounding at least a little sincere.

"Are you alright?" Mission frowned. "You look in pain. Are the sparklings kicking you?" 

"No," Starscream pointed at the door, guiding him out, "Now get out and go and bother someone else. It's late."

Mission was already stepping out into the corridor, frown deepening, "Where is Megatron? Is he recharging in his office again like he did when you were carrying Vic? They could hear your snoring down in the barracks-"

"Out!" Starscream shoved him in the centre of his back, getting him that last step over the threshold. He shut the door after him and muttered curses the whole way back to the berth.

When had Mission turned into such a little smart aleck? He had been such well mannered sparkling. Wouldn't dream of talking back to him. Too much time spent with his sire, likely. And fragging _Skywarp_. 

He laid on the berth atop the covers and again thought about comm'ing Megatron. His anger lingered, but it was drowning in increasing waves of guilt. He regretted what he had said to him about Mission. He was a good sire. A better one than Starscream could have ever hoped for. And Mission was happy, fulfilled by the opportunity that had been laid before him. 

It was unlikely they'd even involve the _Nemesis_ in the situation on Troja Minor. It was even less likely Megatron would allow Mission planet-side as an acting commander. After all, Megatron was a calmer, more reasoned leader now. He had grown out of his reckless, spontaneous approach to tactical warfare. He wouldn't toss Mission out like his latest wildcard just to take the enemy by surprise, like he had Starscream in his early days. He couldn't. 

He wouldn't _dare_. 

Forgetting that he was supposed to be contacting Megatron in surrender, and luring him back to their quarters, Starscream opened a message draft and began composing a scathing, essay length _threat_ , that should anything happen to Mission whilst he was too waylaid by his carriage to protect him, no God, in any religion or cult found within the breadth of this galaxy, would be able to protect Megatron from his wrath-

When the doors to their quarters opened to admit the very cause of his emotional disturbance. 

Saving Starscream from pressing send. 

He quickly deleted the message and folded his arms, meeting Megatron's frowning face with a squinting glare of his own. 

"I see you went against my wishes." 

"And I see you're still an unreasonable, hormonal wretch," Megatron purred lightly, fondly. 

Starscream's claws bit into the armour of his upper arms. "If you're not here to apologise-"

"I am not," Megatron declared firmly, striding fearlessly towards him. "But neither am I fool enough to expect one from you."

He came to stand next to the berth. Seated, Starscream had to crane his helm all the way back to compensate for their height different. Megatron's huge chest loomed above him, and across that, thick, powerful arms. Starscream scooted back a little so he wouldn't seem quite so large and intimidating. Megatron only seemed to crowd closer. 

He turned his helm sharply. "What do you want then?" 

"These are my quarters." 

"So are you here to kick me out?" Starscream jutted his chin out challengingly. "A carrying seeker _you_ were careless enough to knock-up in the first place!?" 

Megatron made a weary noise, optics rolling upwards. "You're working yourself up again."

Rage bubbled up out of nowhere; so hot and sudden and intense that it tightened Starscream's air vents and brought a stinging red blur before his optics. " _I'm_ working myself up?! What did you come here for if not to provoke me?!" 

Megatron said nothing. And his calm, patient stare was the _last straw_. 

With a snarl and bared teeth, Starscream struck, aiming a punch at Megatron's abdominal armour, where the plating was at it's thinnest. It could have been an impressive blow, had it actually connected. Megatron stepped back and avoided it as easily as if Starscream had moved in slow-motion.

As his fist swung wide, Starscream fell forward, having to catch himself on the edge of the berth, blinking in shock.

There was a soft sigh from above and a patronising hand fell to the top of his helm. "Starscream," Megatron began gently. 

Starscream slapped the hand off with a furious noise, rolling away, scooting backwards across the berth when Megatron lifted a knee up and began to climb after him, telling him to calm down, to come here, his hand outstretched. 

He slapped it, his palm colliding with Megatron's wrist with a sharp _clang_. The patience abruptly vanished from Megatron's expression. 

"No - _no_!" Starscream scrambled and kicked as the room disappeared behind Megatron's armour. "Get off me!" 

He aimed a kick at Megatron groin and the outstretched hand caught his ankle. With one smooth drag Starscream was throughly pinned beneath the larger mech, his thighs spread about a broad waist, his heels scrapping at Megatron's hips as he tried to dislodge himself from the mockery of an intimate embrace. Megatron caught his wrists and pinned them to the berth either side of his head- 

And just waited. 

Starscream swore and squirmed and gnashed his denta, bucked his hips and tried to burn the backs of Megatron's thighs with his thrusters. Megatron did not budge. His thumbs slid up and down the sensitive insides of Starscream's wrists with slow, distracted strokes. 

Starscream's energy depleted sooner than his pride wanted, and he whined in defeated frustration as he writhed weakly beneath him. The rolling waves of rage had abandoned him, gone as suddenly as they had arrived, and now all he felt was cold and foolish and utterly insane. He shuttered his optics and clenched his denta hard to keep his lip from wobbling. 

Slowly, Megatron released his wrists. Starscream brought his hands to his face in shame.

If Megatron so much as spoke _one word_ to him he wouldn't be able to control himself. The tightness of his chest was holding back a flood of emotion.

"Starscream,"

"Don't." Starscream hissed tensely before he could speak, vocaliser already breaking. "I can't-"

Megatron hushed him, hand falling to his helm again. And though it wasn't a word, that one syllable was enough to do it. Starscream sucked in a shuddering breath and couldn't stop what followed. Megatron took his wrists and prised them away from his face, just for the satisfaction of seeing him so humiliated. 

Thumbs wiped away coolant streaming from his optics, and unable to bear the thought of how awful he must have looked, Starscream surged forward and hid his face against Megatron's neck, pressing in tight enough he heard the larger mech choke.

Arms slipped around him and with some steady shifting, Starscream was soon sitting upright in his lap, clinging to his armour and snivelling into his chest. It was possibly the most humiliating moment of his life, but he couldn't bring himself to break away from Megatron's grasp, to dissuade the hands rubbing up and down his wings. 

"The sooner you have these sparklings, the better," Megatron spoke against his audial, pressing a kiss there. 

_Insensitive aft,_ is what Starscream would have shouted. Instead he wiped coolant tears and snot all over Megatron's shoulder pauldron and let himself be held until every ugly, dark feeling was purged from his frame, until he was so wrung out and sore he could no longer fight the pull of recharge. 

He couldn't remember climbing out of strong arms and settling down for the night cycle, which meant, with another staggering blow to his ego, he had fallen asleep in Megatron's lap. 

* * *

  
They interfaced the next morning, which took some of the sting out of the tsunami of humiliation Starscream had endured the night before. Megatron didn't comment on his inexplicable breakdown or the fight that had led to it, and pinned him to the berth with the same passionate, domineering sort of kiss he had dealt out in those first few weeks after they had been reunited. Starscream thrilled beneath him and was wet in a spark beat, flicking open his panels and hooking a leg around Megatron's waist before they even paused to take breath.

Something of the tension from the night before still lingered between them. Megatron fucked him like he was owed an apology and Starscream took it like he had something to repent for. The punishing drive of Megatron's spike was easier to take than forgiveness was to ask for. 

He finished with a grunt, head dropping to Starscream's. Starscream peered into Megatron's shuttered optics as his breath shuddered out of him, his mouth dropping open. He nuzzled his forehead against Megatron's, rippling his valve around the spike spilling inside him. 

Megatron hissed an obscene human curse that would have made Optimus Prime blush, and ground his spike deeper, trying to get more of him. 

"Am I forgiven?" He asked as Megatron opened his optics.

"Perhaps," Megatron breathed. "Am I?"

"No," Starscream said snottily. 

Megatron chuckled against his cheek and moved down to kiss his neck. Between Starscream's hips he slipped out of his valve, and refilled the space with two stroking fingers and a thumb on his anterior node. He rolled it in little circles, sliding his fingers slowly in and out. 

Starscream undulated his hips into the sensation. 

"And now?" He teased.

"Get over yourself," Starscream hissed, squeezing his upper arms. "I won't be able to overload with you looking that smug. It's so off putting." 

Megatron's smirk spitefully widened. 


	5. Chapter 5

Skywarp recognised the _stomp-stomp-stomp_ of thrustered feet coming up behind him and hurriedly guzzled what was left of his fuel. Next to him, Thundercracker recognised the noise as well, and braced for impact. 

But their grumpy company was not as they'd feared -Starscream- it was instead his smaller, grumpier daughter. 

Invicta plonked herself down on the bench next to them, folding her arms atop the table and dropping her chin onto them. She glared straight ahead, saying nothing.

"Morning princess," Skywarp greeted warmly. 

Invicta's dark optics found him. "Good morning," she said stiffly, too mature to rise to the teasing nickname. "Have you seen either of my parents? They seem to have forgotten I exist." 

Skywarp hid a smirk behind his hand, sharing a glance with a much more sympathetic Thundercracker. Invicta, for all her tough guy fronting, was only eight, and as the youngest had grown used to enjoying a certain amount of attention from the adults in her life.

"Starscream needs a lot more-" Thundercracker paused awkwardly, "-attention from your sire. Carrying isn't easy, Vic." 

Skywarp side-eyed his unflappable mate knowingly. Carrying wasn't easy and yet Thundercracker wasn't causing half the drama Starscream did on a day-to-day basis. 

"Besides, you think it's bad now?" Skywarp smirked at her. "Just you wait until the twins are here."

"Skywarp," Thundercracker admonished. "They haven't forgotten you," he told Invicta gently. 

"Isn't this the sort of independence you've always been after?" Skywarp leaned towards her, dropping his tone into something conspiratorial. "Think of all the stuff you can get away with now?" 

Invicta rolled her optics at him like she though he was the biggest idiot she'd ever met, retreating out of her seat. "My parents may be distracted but _Soundwave_ is not." 

Skywarp watched her stomp back the way she'd come until an elbow jabbed into his side. "Ow!"

"Some sire you're gonna be," Thundercracker glared. 

"Hey, that was solid advice!"

"Telling her it's only going to get worse and suggesting she start misbehaving?" Thundercracker stood up. "It's a good thing Megatron's distracted with Starscream. If he knew you were the cause of Invicta's sudden unexplained rebellious streak you wouldn't live long enough to meet your own sparkling." 

Skywarp watched him walk away, a little frown pulling at his face. "You're not gonna tell him though, right?" 

Thundercracker waved a flippant hand, a gesture they could have meant anything. 

Skywarp slumped against the now empty table like Invicta had done. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to _try_ and be a little more responsible for his own sparkling. 

At least there was one thing Starscream's bitlets were good for - the practice. 

* * *

  
Mission tapped his claws against the polished silver of the War Chamber's large table, the discipline to sit up straight and promote an air of professionalism having long since abandoned him. In his sire's lateness he had decided to sit in Megatron's seat, as if his little display of mischievousness was going to somehow hurry the absent mech along. Thundercracker was on his left, in the seat that would have been his creator's, too distracted by his own thoughts to keep Mission's mind from wandering, staring off into the distance. 

Mission sighed to himself. The duties of an acting Air Commander had so far failed to line up with his high expectations. He hadn't envisioned anything particularly riveting. He _was_ helping to run a ship and crew at rest, but he had been hoping for more than just overseeing basic maintenance, organising the shift schedules, and sitting for hours on end with Soundwave, studying historical Autobot attack protocols. 

To was _bored_ , and had pretty much been left to his own devices. Skywarp was never going to be great at this kinda thing, but Thundercracker was being _just_ as unhelpful - distracted and forgetful even. As a youngling Mission had always looked up to his creator's stoic, loyal trine-mate. It was just his luck one of the few mecha he thought he could always rely on was letting him down now. 

Mission checked his chrono for the third time since Strika had hailed them from Troja Minor, exhaling sharply in impatience. Given the nature of her call he would have expected his sire to be here by now. 

Finally, the doors opened and Megatron came striding in. 

"You're late," Mission glared.

"Get out of my seat," Megatron pointed, creating a sudden game of musical chairs as Thundercracker shifted down a seat so Mission could move into Starscream's. "I came as soon as I could-"

"Forty minutes," Mission challenged him - because in Starscream's absence no one else ever would. 

"I had to wait for Starscream to settle into recharge mode," Megatron dropped himself down and dragged the various reports towards him. "If he knew who had called he would be chewing on the lock to get in here-"

"Why not just let him?" Thundercracker murmured peevishly.

Megatron pinned him with a cold stare, "You know why." 

Unlike the majority of the airforce, Mission didn't question his sire's judgment in removing Starscream not just from active duty, but _any_ sort of duties. He had studied enough central processing units under Hook to know what the affects dormant coding triggered by gestation had on critical decision making abilities. And Starscream's track record as a carrier was chock full of bad decisions. As a youngling he had _lived_ some of them. 

"Strika reports that the Troja have obtained advanced weaponry," Mission read of the abridged transcript Soundwave had taken. "That she is awaiting orders on whether to expect reinforcements, abandon the planet or," he paused before reading the next sentence, unable to keep the judgmental tone from his voice. "Or to 'die with glory for the Decepticon cause'." 

His sire didn't react, which implied to Mission that Strika was ...one of _those_ Decepticons. 

"Did she elaborate on the weaponry?" 

"The transmission was gargled," Mission set down the data-pad. "It was hard to hear her over the explosions." 

His sire merely grunted, an indication of how deeply unhappy he was with this development. 

"So," Mission pressed, glancing around the silent table. "Are we going or not?"

His sire looked up in surprise; just as Thundercracker grabbed his bicep with a strained, reproachful hiss of, " _Mission_ -" 

"Sire," Mission ignored Thundercracker, "we've been loitering outside of the system for weeks, we have a fully staffed crew-"

"Not fully staffed," Megatron studied him cooly. "I am down an Air Commander; my best seeker _and_ a vital tactician." 

Mission straightened, spark jumping with a flicker of excitement. "Send me." 

Megatron didn't _immediately_ shoot his suggestion down as ludicrous. His weighted gaze fell to him, studying him-

"No," Thundercracker was suddenly ruining it, standing up from the table, showing more gusto than Mission thought he had probably ever seen from him. "Starscream wouldn't want you going into a war zone." 

"My creator doesn't have a seat at this table," Mission reminded him, annoyed. 

"Because he is carrying," Thundercracker glared fiercely at Megatron. 

"And irrational," Mission stood up to, not afraid to say it. "You're acting like I'm being sent to my deactivation. I've seen worse. I've been _in_ worse."

"You shouldn't have been," Thundercracker huffed. "This isn't a recon mission, or a patrol. This is a planet wide rebellion-"

"I want to go." Mission looked past Thundercracker at his sire, who was stoking his chin, still in silent consideration. "No other Decepticon has had to wait this long to see battle." 

Megatron sighed. 

" _Megatron_ ," Thundercracker stressed, inappropriately dropping the reverent 'lord', sounding like he was about to beg. "Think of Starscream."

"Sire," Mission pressed. 

Megatron glared between the two of them. "Starscream would never forgive me if I sent his eldest son to Troja Minor unprepared and unprotected." 

Mission felt himself deflate, his spark shrinking with disappoint and embarrassment. For the first time since he'd gotten them, the branded insignias on his wings made him feel like a sparkling playing dress up. Next to him, Thundercracker breathed a sigh of relief. 

But it was short lived. 

"Which is why," Megatron continued slowly, gradually restoring Mission hope- and Thundercracker's dread. "Which is why I will be sure to send you with both."

Mission could hardly dare to believe it, "You're going to let me go?" 

His sire looked an odd mix of proud and regretful. "If this means so much to you, yes. I will let you go." 

Mission had to swallow down the excitement threatening to burst out of him. He wanted to throw his arms around his sire and embrace him, but such an act would only cause the offer to be retracted. 

"Thank you," he said instead, calmly and professionally. 

Thundercracker said nothing of the sort, casting Megatron the filthiest look, proving that any seeker could glare as fiercely as Starscream if they really tried, and turned on his heel, storming out of the War Chambers. 

Which reminded Mission. 

"...Are you going to tell Starscream, or should I?" 

His sire slumped down his seat in clear dread. "It's probably best I do it. He may attempt to damage you, make you unfit for duty and unable to go." 

Mission frowned. For all his reputation as a violent treacherous criminal, Starscream had never hurt him. Never hurt any of his sparklings. "He wouldn't." 

Megatron rose slowly, "If he thought he was protecting you from greater harm, he'd do anything." 

And that, Mission decided, was far more frightening than the thought of open warfare. 

* * *

  
Skywarp hadn't heard from Starscream so he could only imagine how his trine leader had taken the news. Badly, he guessed, when less than half an hour after Thundercracker relayed the whole meeting back to him a ship-wide automated PA system announced that the airlocks, escape pods, and the hanger bay had all gone into lockdown to prevent any ...unauthorised leave. 

"He's just being precautious," Thundercracker whispered, lying flush alongside Skywarp in his bunk some hours later. "Starscream wouldn't run off again." 

Skywarp ran his fingers up and down Thundercracker's cockpit. '"I'm more worried about you." 

He felt the lump in Thundercracker throat when his mate swallowed thickly. "...Yeah." 

"You're not going," Skywarp said simply. "You can't. I won't let you." 

Thundercracker wet his lips. "We promised Starscream we'd look after Mission-"

"We've gotta tell Screamer," Skywarp implored, no longer caring of the consequences. Starscream was going to rip him to shreds, yeah, but better him by Starscream's hand than Thundercracker and their new-spark at the wrong end of some Rebel-Troja scumbag's gun. He tightened his arms around him, dropping his cheek to his chest. "We've left it too long. You could pop any day now-"

"What about Mission?" 

"Maybe it's a good thing, you staying here? Maybe Megatron will change his mind and call it off, stick Mission in the comms room with Screamer n' the little ones and go himself?" 

"Maybe," Thundercracker murmured softly. 

"It's gonna be okay, TC," Skywarp tightened his arms around him, listening to the pulse of two sparks beneath the audial pressed to Thundercracker's chest. "I'm gonna take care of it. I'm a sire now, remember." 

"Almost," Thundercracker stroked his wing fondly. "Almost, Warp."

* * *

  
Starscream sat in the oil bath on the lower deck, a luxury Megatron wouldn't ordinarily allow. But, given the circumstances... 

He sat on the edge of the bath's wide obsidian rim, watching for any break in Starscream's stony, scowling expression. He hadn't spoken to him since screeching his vocaliser hoarse. Megatron was beginning to fear he wouldn't ever again. 

If just to prompt some life out of Starscream, whether it backfire on him or not, he dipped his hand in the oil and splashed a little over Starscream's wing. Starscream's optics narrowed. 

With a sigh, Megatron reached up to stroke the backs of his fingers across the arch of his dark cheek, leaving a streak of oil, "It was his choice, Starscream." 

His wrist was smacked harshly. With a splash of oil Starscream leaned back and sank deeper into the bath, until just his helm from the chin up was visible. "Don't talk to me." 

Megatron was sorely tempted to place a hand on the top of his head and dunk him. 

He refrained, for the sake of their continued relationship. 

"I feel it's rather unfair that you keep blowing up at me like this when you know full well I can't fight back."

Starscream's optics flicked momentarily in his direction. "And why is that?"

"You're carrying twins and you have enchanted me, I wouldn't stand a chance."

Starscream made a furious noise. "Will you stop saying things like that! Don't think I don't know you're just trying to get under my panel."

"Of course I am." Megatron swung his legs over and dipped them into the warm, fragranced oil. "It's become the only thing I can do that will calm you down." 

Starscream stuck in chin up. Oil glistened down soaked throat cabling. "Well in that case I am hereby officially abstaining from sex with you." 

"With _me_?" 

"I can satisfy my cravings elsewhere." 

"With who exactly?" Megatron smirked. " _I_ may be willing to risk deactivation in lying with you, but I've been told my infatuation has skewered my judgment." 

"Risk deactivation?!" Starscream snorted. "What are you talking about. If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't ruin a perfectly good 'face in the process. I'm not some black widow-"

"I was talking about _me_ ," Megatron leant in close, voice as smooth and liquid as the oil flooding their seams. He cupped the back of Starscream's head and _insisted_ he meet his gave. "Because I would kill any mech that dared lay a hand on my conjunx-to-be." 

He could feel Starscream resist his hold, but it was mere performance, "You think we're getting conjunxed after _this_?!" 

"You'll come around," Megatron pushed a rough kiss to the side of his head and withdrew before he could swipe. "You always do." 

Oil rushed over the rim of the full bath when Starscream gripped the sides and stood up fast. The viscous, golden oil dripped off the edges of his wings and armour, tracked in glossy beads down his legs and cockpit. "Let me go with him." 

Megatron thought he had misheard at first. When he locked optics with Starscream's firm stare, he was sure the override protocols Starscream was suffering under had finally robbed him off his last remaining brain cell. "Are you out of your mind? You will remain on the ship, here, with me."

Starscream's optics brightened. His voice become scratchy, "You're not going either?" 

"I _would_ be, if I could actually trust you to act in both yours and our new-sparks' best interest in staying _put_." Megatron leaned down and Starscream began to slink back, crouching and sliding beneath the oils surface, cowed by his leader's fierceness of his time. 

"Leave someone else with me if it'll sooth your paranoia," Starscream suggested, "You need to go with our _son_ -"

"What I need is _you_ were I can see you," Megatron regretted that it had to be this way. They had been together a long time now, but he still couldn't- 

He cared for Starscream a great deal, but he could not - _would_ not- gamble the lives of Starscream and their twins on the off chance that for the first time in his _life_ Starscream was going to do the sensible thing. 

"Thrax and Invicta will need watching too," Megatron added, aware that getting grouped in with the sparklings would do nothing to improve Starscream's outlook on the situation. "And I couldn't inflict them on any other unsuspecting Decepticon..." 

Starscream leaned forwards to rest his chin on Megatron's knee, no longer looking so openly vengeful. Megatron cupped his cheek and tipped his face up again. 

"What if I can talk him out of it?" Starscream breathed. 

He was desperate. Megatron's spark wavered for a moment, torn in two different directions. Mission's desire to prove himself - Starscream's need to keep their son safe. 

"Has he ever taken heed of your advice before?" 

That did it. Starscream shuttered his optics and let his helm hit the edge of the tub with a thunk. His wings fell beneath the oil. 

Sighing, Megatron saw little option to comfort but to climb into the bath with him. He slid off his seat on the rim and descended into the oil. Starscream's tear streaked face shot up and flushed pink with horror. Oil rose over the sides and spilled across the floor, and with some manhandling that was rougher than anyone would advise using against a carrying mech, Megatron managed to get Starscream in his lap, his wings pressed to his chest. 

"You're going to mortified," Megatron told him teasingly, smearing oil across the top of Starscream's head, "when you look back on this after you've had these sparklings and see how much crying you've done." 

Starscream sniffed loudly, hand over his face, but seeing as he could offer no retort without his vocaliser faltering, he kept his mouth wisely shut. 

Megatron set his chin atop his helm, languidly scooping up handfuls of oil and tipping them over Starscream's golden cockpit. "I will arrange to have someone watch over Mission. Someone competent." 

Starscream shook his helm, vocaliser clicking on and off as it repeatedly reset until Starscream could trust it. "I don't trust anyone you'd send," he swallowed thickly. "My trine will go." 

" _Skywarp_?" Megatron said disbelievingly. 

"Thundercracker," Starscream snapped. 

Megatron thought back to Thundercracker's fierce plea from the earlier meeting. Loyal, brave, and devoted to Mission. There was no better candidate. 

"Of course," he murmured against the top of his helm, "whatever you wish." 

* * *

  
Megatron was deep in recharge when something collided with the top of his helm. Thinking it was Starscream finally doing him in, he shot up in a bolt, tossing covers aside to free his legs in case he should need to run. 

But Starscream was fast asleep next to him, lying on his front, wings rising and falling with his deep steady breaths. 

"A _hem_." 

Invicta was stood at the side of his berth, her arms folded crossly. Megatron felt a wave of exhaustion sweep through him. Unlike her brothers, Invicta never suffered nightmares, and if she did, she certainly never saw a reason to bother her parents with them. No, the only reason she would seek them out _three hours_ before the next shift was due to start was to try and manipulate them into letting her have her way, using their confused, sleep-deprived processors against them. 

It never worked on Starscream. Which was why she never woke _him_. 

"No," Megatron growled before she could open her mouth. 

"I want to be trained," She stamped her pede, throwing her fists down. "Mission's allowed to run off into battle to get killed but I can't even-"

Megatron hushed her hurriedly, slapping a hand over her mouth. She was small enough that his enormous palm almost engulfed her entire head. She glared indignantly. 

"Do not wake your creator," Megatron pointed sternly, drawing his hand away. "He has ...had a bad night." 

"No thanks to you, I imagine," She glared as soon as her mouth was free. 

Megatron had once enjoyed how sharp and perceptive his daughter was. With a mind like her's, she would be formidable warrior, a feared leader, an unconquerable champion - _one_ day. But not yet. And today? Her precociousness was wearing thin. 

"We've had this conversation before," he began sternly. "You're too young-"

"Mission was handling weapons when he was younger than me." 

"Because your creator had little choice but to teach him to defend himself." Megatron growled. "It wasn't a privilege it was a necessity, and however clever and mature you imagine yourself, you are eight-"

"I'm nearly nine-"

"- _eight_ vorns old with the judgment to match." He continued, deciding to be brutally honest to get the point across, sick to death of arguing with stubborn seekers, day in, day out. "You won't so much as lay a hand on a weapon until I can trust you not to abuse it." 

Invicta stared at him with the force of a thousand burning suns, the brightness in the corners of her optics looking startlingly alike brimming tears. "That's what _you_ think," she argued petulantly. 

Having had enough, Megatron rolled out of the berth.

Invicta held her ground but Megatron didn't have the patience to remove her with the dignity she so clearly felt she deserved. He hooked his hand around her scruff bar and hefted her off her feet. She kicked, snarled, and he dumped her on her feet again outside in the corridor. 

"Go to recharge," he ordered, and shut the door in her face.

He was climbing back into berth again when Starscream stirred, dashing Megatron's hopes of him having recharged through the unpleasant episode. 

"Why do all of our sparklings have a death wish?" He mumbled, sounding half asleep. 

Megatron rolled onto his side towards him and curled an arm around his middle, pulling wings flush to his chest. "Something they inherited from you, it seems." 

A wing twitched and flicked him lightly in the face. 

* * *

When Starscream called upon them the next day Skywarp knew what it was going to be about, he tried in vain to get Thundercracker to keep his distance, but his mate was stubbornly resolute. There was no 'if' about it. Starscream wasn't going to take this news well. 

"Just let me handle it," Skywarp muttered, pressing down on Thundercracker's shoulders to get him to take a seat on the rundown Flight-Rec sofa. The room was empty and a little dusty after months of disuse. With the ship out of active duty the hanger as a whole hadn't seen much action lately. 

Thundercracker kept brushing his hands way though, putting Skywarp on edge with the way he never just _relaxed_. Their new-spark was due soon, and from Skywarp's limited experience in watching Starscream, he should have been taking it easier.

"I should be the one to tell him," Thundercracker began. 

" _No_!" Skywarp wailed, pushing him down again. "He might hit you. You don't have any tact."

Thundercracker rolled his optics. "Oh, he won't hit -wait, _what_?" He snapped, realising what Skywarp had said. " _I_ have no tact?" 

"You just blurt things out at people," Skywarp admonished. "This is a delicate situation and we need to tiptoe around it for at least an hour first before breaking it to him." 

Thundercracker stared at him. "Like when _you_ tiptoed around telling Thrax what happens to captive Autobot's after they're taken down to the brig?" 

"Hey," Skywarp pointed. "He only started crying after you came in and told him they went to 'a better place'! Everyone knows what _that's_ code for." 

"What the Pit was I supposed to say? He was six!" 

Their argument was interrupted by the sound of the Flight-Rec doors sweeping open. Starscream stopped just inside the open doorway. 

Skywarp felt a wave of sympathy crash into him, and it wasn't always easy to feel that way about Starscream.

Some would describe mecha who were particularly suited to carrying as having a glow about them, like their spark was shining so much brighter it penetrated the outer layers of their armour. That was not how Skywarp would have described Starscream. There was a dullness about him that implied more than just one mornings skipped polish, and the lines of age that had started to appear around his optics were deeper and more pronounced. 

Thundercracker wisely dropped heavily into the sofa, silently agreeing to let him take the lead on this one. 

"You're heard the news," Starscream began. 

Skywarp could only manage a nod. 

Starscream kept a stiff upper lip, returning the nod. "I'm assigning you to Mission to act as his trine and his guardians, in mine and his sire's stead."

"I - Of course," Skywarp hesitated. " _ButThundercrackercan't_ ," he blurted. 

Starscream's optics became sharp and deadly. " _What_?!" They snapped to Thundercracker. 

Thundercracker opened his mouth, "I'm-" 

"He's sick." Skywarp blurted, chickening out. He shot Thundercracker a Look that said 'help me here!'. 

Thundercracker, equally as cowardly, coughed unconvincingly. "Real sick." 

Starscream was staring between the two of them disbelievingly. His optics dimmed, and the myriad of emotions flittering across his face struck something deep within Skywarp. _Guilt_. 

"It's okay," he blurted quickly. "I'm still going. I'll protect Mission." 

"I'd sooner send his baby sister to accompany than you alone," Starscream hissed viciously. "I need Thundercracker." He pinned Thundercracker with a desperate glare. "I need _you_." 

"Hey, I'm just as good, if not _better_ than TC," Skywarp argued, ignoring the frown that prompted from his mate. "I can teleport-"

"Thundercracker can _think_ ," Starscream snapped. "And he's also _not_ sick. I need him, not you. I can trust an idiot like you to fire a gun and fly in formation but not with my son. Not with _anyone's_ son." 

Expecting a sparkling of his own very soon, Starscream's harsh words cut Skywarp deeply. Skywarp felt his temper bubble up. He barely noticed Thundercracker standing to pre-emptively get between them. 

"Warp-"

"An idiot, huh?" He went to jab Starscream in the chest but Thundercracker caught his digit before he could. He wretched his hand free. "Not to be trusted with sparklings-!?"

"Or a pet rock, frankly," Starscream muttered snidely, veering back in distaste. "You're a train-wreck, Skywarp. We can only thank Primus you never reproduced and inflicted more of yourself on the universe." 

Skywarp knew he was only saying those things because he was stressed and worried and uncomfortable and carrying two sparklings all while still chasing after his other three, but the words bubbled up anyway, bursting out of his vocaliser, "Well too bad, cause I did!" 

Starscream opened his mouth to throw out another snide comment on his ineptitude in every walk of life - then stopped when the implication of Skywarp's words struck. His expression twisted, olfactory sensors flaring with righteous, incandescent rage, "Did **_what_**?!" 

"We're having a sparkling," Skywarp felt suddenly breathless admitting it. It was the first time he had acknowledged it to anyone but Thundercracker. It was the first time they'd told anyone. (He would regret later that it was in the middle of an argument.) 

Starscream's optics turned into spotlights. He stepped back in horror, "You're not actually-!"

"Thundercracker is," Skywarp pointed at his mate quickly. Thundercracker threw his hands up in surrender. 

Starscream didn't say anything for a moment, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly. His optics darted from side to side as his processor struggled to balance a flood of emotion (heightened by his carriage) with the logistical calculations of the how and when. Cogs turned quickly to compute through the evidence of the past few months. 

Skywarp could _pinpoint_ the moment it all clicked for him, as he watched Starscream's brow crease, his jaw tighten. His lifted his helm and met Skywarp's gaze with optics burning brighter than a red sun. 

"You..." he began slowly, vocaliser rough and low with strain. " _You_ -"

Unsurprisingly, he had worked out pretty quick that it was his and Thundercracker's gestating new-spark that had triggered his own reproductive protocols. 

"We should go," Skywarp said quickly, gesturing to Thundercracker to get up, quickly, and take his hand so they could teleport to safety. "We should _go_."

"You treacherous, _lying_ -!" Starscream was stalking towards them with startling speed for a mech so heavily carrying. 

Skywarp didn't wait for him to reach them, grabbing Thundercracker's hand and teleporting them out of the Rec and across the ship in a crack, Starscream's enraged face disappearing behind a flash of neon purple. 

Now safe, they stood in the Air Barracks and met each other's gaze. Skywarp was about to offer Thundercracker a reassurance that Starscream would calm down soon enough, when he was interrupted by a loud echoing _shriek_ from somewhere deep within the ship. 

Starscream. All the way down in the Flight Rec. 

"Nice tiptoeing," Thundercracker tugged his hand free of Skywarp's. 

Skywarp cringed, "I was following _your_ advice!" 

* * *

  
When Starscream appeared on the Bridge that morning, Megatron's felt a previously unnoticed part of his spark brighten to see his mate up and about. It swooped down into the murky depths as quickly as it had arisen when he saw the expression on Starscream's face, with a heavy sense of foreboding to accompany it. 

He took a self-preserving step back. 

"Give me your comm," Starscream demanded. 

Megatron lifted the arm bearing it high above his head, not entirely sure that Starscream could be trusted not to rip it free of his circuitry to get it. "Why?" 

Starscream grabbed his bicep and attempted to pull it down, "Because I need your frequency list." 

Megatron's narrowed his optics. " _Why_?" He repeated with more force. 

Starscream was shacking with barely repressed hostility, the tremors of his frame tracking all the way up his arms to vibrate the tips of his wings. He looked like a child about to throw a tantrum. "Because I don't have any of your psychotic fanboys on speed dial!" 

Megatron blinked in astonishment, "You mean the Justice Division?" He veered away in surprise. 

Starscream continued to chase him, taking two steps forward for every one Megatron took back, gaining ground quickly, a hand locking around his forearm and trying to twist it down at an painful angle. "I have names to add to the list-!"

Fearing for whoever had crossed Starscream badly enough to warrant him reaching out to a group of mecha led by Starscream's proclaimed arch enemy, Megatron twisted awkwardly to stop him getting his devious claws on the frequency, "You don't have the authority-"

"Then _you're_ going to call them," Starscream backed off enough to jab him in the chest. "And tell them to write down Skywarp's designation and to bump him to the top!"

Megatron stared. And here he had thought the mood swings had begun to improve...

"And Thundercracker too, put him down," Starscream added as an afterthought. "But just let them tack him onto the bottom of the list as you normally would. No special arrangements needed. I'm sure Tarn would be more that willing to dispatch a carrying mech but I have a strict code of honour and-"

Megatron wasn't even listening to the rest of the nonsense Starscream was spouting. He seized Starscream by the shoulders, forgetting his game of keep away. "Dispatch a carrying mech?!" 

"Aren't you listening?!" Starscream flicked him in the helmet. The ring rattled through Megatron's audials. "Thundercracker. Skywarp revealed _him_ as the culprit" 

He pointed both fingers to his own chassis. 

"...And here I thought I was culprit," Megatron murmured, now even more confused. 

"How many- do you wilfully eject everything tell you about my culture?" Starscream hissed, " _yes_ , you are to blame, but you wouldn't have gotten me _into_ this state if those two sluts had kept it under their panels!" 

He shrugged off Megatron's hands, leaving him to figure it out for himself, and began to pace the command deck with his hands clasped behind his back, glaring at the decking. "Thundercracker is carrying. He can't accompany Mission to Troja Minor." 

Megatron didn't dare suggest Skywarp go with him alone. 

"And he is expecting a sparkling ...with Skywarp?" 

"Evidently, yes," Starscream hissed. "You should have them court-marshalled." 

"On what grounds?" 

"Inconveniencing me!" Starscream roared. "You realise our sparklings are going to have to trine to whatever defect they pop out?! My perfect seekers being dragged down by their dunce." 

Megatron didn't see much of a problem with their sparklings having an age appropriate friend to socialise with. Sparklings of similar ages had more in common- Invicta and Thrax being an anomaly- but they still faired much better with each other than Mission had alone. Their eldest was spoilt, and tended towards aloofness and selfishness - Though that could simply be a result of his creator's coding. 

Megatron would acknowledge that this news was not ideal at present. He was going into war -sending _his son_ into war- and now he was two seekers down. Two of his best seekers. He rested against a databank and sighed. 

"Call off the rendezvous with Strika on Troja Minor," Starscream implored, pacing slowing to a stop. "At the very least pull Mission off the roster." 

"Why?" Megatron lifted his helm. 

Starscream stared at him. "You know why!" 

"You think he'll respect my decision to pull him out because he doesn't have sufficient babysitters, or do you think he'll go anyway, just to prove himself?" 

"He doesn't have to prove himself," Starscream scoffed. "We'll lock him in the brig." 

"Imprisoning him for fear of him disobeying us will not stop him. I imagine it'll even encourage him." 

"I won't let him go down there alone," Starscream hissed, optics watering. "I'll go myself before I let that happen." 

Megatron inhaled deeply, knowing Starscream wasn't going to like what he suggested next. "Or, instead of taking that ludicrous course of action, I could find him 'protection' elsewhere." 

He gestured to his comm. Starscream's expression, predictably, soured. 

"Don't you dare say-"

"You did just want to comm him."

"To _kill_ someone, not-"

"Tarn will be more than sufficient," Megatron decided, and pressed the comm before the seeker could stop him. 

Starscream turned around and kicked in the nearest air vent. 


	6. Chapter 6

Strangely, the prospect of someone _else_ having a sparkling wasn't an idea that had occurred to Mission before. He was a mech now, so of course he was aware of the sort of things that could -hypothetically- happen between Thundercracker and Skywarp- between _any_ of the other Decepticons. He just hadn't thought anyone would have ...dared. 

Standard protocol would be to remove the carrier -or the full trine in the case of seekers- from the ship and send them to an outpost, unofficially punish them with lifelong desk duty. But Megatron would never send Starscream away; and by virtue of being his trine-mates, Thundercracker and Skywarp must have been banking on receiving the same special treatment. 

It was going to be ...different, thinking of Thundercracker and Skywarp as someone's parents. Mission wasn't entirely sure how he felt about it yet. 

"How long have you known?" He asked, unsure how mecha talked about these things. Starscream's reaction was clearly a What Not To Do example. Should he congratulate them? Commiserate with them? Did they even want this?

Mission had come to understand that the conception of a New Spark was rarely intentional and often barely tolerated. 

"Since the beginning," Thundercracker's lips twitched with a smile. He groaned softly as he gradually lowered himself to sit. "We were just taking a leaf out of your creator's book." 

Mission couldn't help but study him.

There were no visible clues to indicate when a mech was carrying (an evolutionary advantage developed in ancient times to protect vulnerable carriers from the dangers of the wider universe) but when someone trained in medicine knew what to look for, it seemed obvious. Thundercracker was as stiff as a support pillar, his internals crammed tightly together to make room for his expanded gestation tank. Thundercracker's armoured frame was strong enough to retain it's shape against a straining protoform, but keeping one's trim figure didn't come without a sacrifice of great discomfort. 

Primus only knew how Starscream would feel with _two_. They were unlikely to be especially small -his siblings hadn't been. Mission wondered if they'd come early if they ran out of room. 

"You're not jealous, are you?" Thundercracker teased. 

Mission scowled, "Why would I be?"

"You and your siblings are going to have to compete with Skywarp's charming coding." 

Mission rolled his optics, though it was something to think about. The new sparkling was going to suck up Thundercracker and Skywarp's attention like an expanding black hole. For once, their attention would be on their _own_ bitlet. And not on him. 

And with his parent's expecting _twins_ \- Primus, there were going to be so many sparklings. 

"No one on this ship is going to get any recharge." Mission lamented, feeling exhausted just thinking about it. "Maybe I won't come back from Troja Minor after all. I'll ask Strika if there's an opening on her ship. I know _she_ won't have sparklings on board." 

"Don't say that," Thundercracker didn't laugh, "I'm going to need your expertise. I didn't know what I'm doing." 

"You'll have Skywarp." 

"Exactly," Thundercracker fixed him with a Look. Mission was about to suggest he ask Starscream or Megatron- but as someone who was raised by them, he couldn't honestly vouch that they were the model parents. 

"Just don't have it while I'm gone," Mission settled on. "Sire say's I'll be back before I know it." 

Thundercracker rolled his optics, "Alright, I'll cross my legs and keep the panel shut until you're back aboard the ship."

"Too much information," Mission grimaced as the mental projection of what an emergence entailed bloomed into being, with Thundercracker as the example. 

"Some medic you're going to be, squeamish over an emergence." 

"You're my-" Mission waved his hands around vaguely; Uncle? Brother? Friend? "Okay, I don't know what you are to me but I don't want to think about you in that situation. I'll be supporting you in spirit - from out in the corridor, where I won't see anything traumatic." 

"What about your medical training? Isn't Hook going to want you there to take notes?" 

Mission shuddered in revulsion, "I'll study the theory." 

"I take it you won't be assisting Hook in the repair bay for Starscream either?" Thundercracker wasn't hiding his slag-eating grin now. 

Mission clapped his hands over his optics, "I'd sooner melt my own wings." 

* * *

Mission had heard plenty horror stories regarding the Decepticon Justice Division, most from his own sire in a bid to frighten him into behaving.

He had never met them- the closest he had ever come to them was as a youngling, not long after Starscream had been officially reinstated as a Decepticon. He remembered peering out through the rear airlock's viewports at the _Peaceful Tyranny_ drifting alongside the _Nemesis_ , when Megatron had needed to discuss something with them in person. 

From what he understood there was some friction between them and his creator. Apparently Starscream was no more popular with them than he was with the Decepticons struggling Public Relations office. 

The leader of the division, Tarn, cultivated a particular dislike for his creator. It had come to Mission's mind, on more than one occasion, that the crew of the _Peaceful Tyranny_ may have been among the bounty hunters and pirates that had made his first ten vorns of life a living pit-scape. 

_Why_ Megatron thought it was good idea to task a mech that hated his creator, and likely hated him by association, with watching over him during his excursion on Troja Minor was beyond him. 

But it wasn't negotiable. Either he accepted Tarn's guardianship for the duration of the mission or he wasn't going at all. His creator's calculative scowl throughout that conversation made it obvious that Starscream would be all too happy for him to refuse and spend the entire battle sat on the sidelines with his younger siblings and expectant creator. Mission wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. 

Perhaps this was another test? To measure his ability to control his emotions, to prove he could work effectively with those who might not respect his position? Or his parentage? Or his developing leadership role in the faction? 

Unless Tarn was a complete lunatic, he was sure he could manage. 

He headed down to the main hanger to wait for this mechs arrival, and felt a shameful wave of relief when he saw Megatron already stood waiting, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't know what to expect from this Decepticon, and though Starscream's words could never be completely trusted, he was embarrassed to admit that they'd gotten to him a little. 

"He must be important," Mission murmured curiously, drawing level with his sire to face the open hanger doors. A rippling shield separated the atmosphere in the hanger from the vacuum of space as they awaited their guest's arrival. 

Megatron's chin dropped so he could consider him. "No more than any other Decepticon." 

"Then why the greeting party?" 

Megatron lifted his helm high so Mission, from his disadvantaged stature, couldn't see his expression. "There are things I need to make clear to him. Things that are better said in person." 

"He knows Starscream's my creator, doesn't he?" Mission checked, nervous at the thought of it coming as an unpleasant shock to this mech who hated Starscream more than he did Autobots.

Megatron sighed. "He knows. He has known for some time." 

Few Decepticons beyond the crew of the _Nemesis_ were privy to that information. Mission frowned, "You must trust him, then?" 

Megatron shuttered his optics, "I would hardly send you off into open warfare with a mech who's loyalty I did not have complete faith in. Tarn is ...a devoted Decepticon. He has never let his personal issues come before what I command of him." 

"Sounds a little brainwashed to me." 

Megatron glared, but before he could admonish him the sound of approaching shuttle engines met their audials. Mission stood a little taller, bringing his wings forwards to widen his silhouette so he didn't feel quite so minuscule next to Megatron. 

Astrotrain swung into view beyond the hanger and slowly breached the rippling shield barrier to enter. He landed across from them. A hiss of released pressure sounded as the passenger hatch slid away and a huge, dark figure appeared in the opening. Purple biolights glowed ominously. 

Mission couldn't see his face clearly and had to squint to realise it was because Tarn was wearing a mask, modelled on their faction insignia. His red optics glowed through the eye holes like distant stars. And mounted on his arm was a _double_ fusion cannon. 

It all spoke of a mech who took themselves _very_ seriously. 

Mission wanted to duck his head and avert his gaze, instantly understanding why Starscream disliked him. 

"My Lord Megatron," Tarn spoke as he stepped down the ramp, helm bowed reverently. His voice was smooth and silky and graceful, not at all what Mission had been expecting- not after so many years spent listening to the rough voices and common accents of the crew he knew. "It was an honour to receive your summons." 

Mission glanced at his sire, watching him nod a greeting and bring a hand up to casually gesture to his company, "My son." 

"Yes," Tarn inclined his helm for Mission as well, but the huge tank still towered over him. "At long last, we meet." 

Mission had absolutely no idea what to say to that. His processor seemed to have lost the ability to form coherent thought with the larger mech's intense, searching gaze pinning him down like it was. Tarn took it upon himself to fill the silence. 

"He takes after his creator, I see." He said, speaking to Megatron as if Mission wasn't worth talking to anyway. 

"They all do," Megatron glanced sideways at Mission, the corner of his mouth upturned to prove that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. "The price for choosing to mix coding with a seeker. Mine doesn't seem to stand much of a chance." 

Tarn said nothing, his gaze still appraising Mission thoughtfully, perhaps looking for traces of Megatron in his features. He'd have much better luck with Invicta if he was looking for miniature versions of his beloved leader. 

"And where is the _Air Commander_?" Tarn finally lifted his optics away to meet Megatron's gaze again. His tone was light and casual, but something in it was stressed, like he didn't believe Starscream deserved the title. And he proved it a moment later by correcting himself, "I apologise, _former_ Air Commander. Congratulations are in order again, I hear?" 

Megatron gestured for Tarn to walk with him, and Mission was thankfully able to put his sire between himself and Tarn. "A temporary demotion only, for obvious reasons," he said, with a hint of warning. "As for his whereabouts, he has been waylaid elsewhere." 

Mission was relieved his sire had spun Starscream's current condition into something more flattering. The difficult gestation and Starscream's struggles with it wasn't anyone's business but theirs. 

"I am surprised he agreed to this scenario," Tarn leant around Megatron to glance at Mission again. "He and I have never seen optic-to-optic." 

"Because you think he's a traitor?" Mission couldn't help but interject. 

Megatron's head snapped towards him, firing him a disapproving look. Tarn, though it was difficult to tell behind the mask, looked intrigued. "Among other things." 

"The past is Inconsequential," Megatron cut in before Mission would retort. "My relationship with Starscream has become more personal than political and is not up for public scrutiny." He turned specifically to Tarn then, "He is also, as you stated so yourself, carrying two sparks who will one cycle be of incalculable valuable, both to myself and our cause. You'd be wise to treat him with that value in mind." 

"I will give the creator of your heirs the respect he deserves," Tarn accepted easily, not in the least cowed by Megatron's tone. 

"I would prefer you avoid him completely," Megatron growled. 

Tarn lifted his helm, and his optics took on a new shine when something caught his attention over Megatron's shoulder. "Would that I could, my liege." 

Mission whipped around, and just as feared, there was Starscream, coming straight for them. A curious Thrax and Invicta in tow. 

Megatron released a noise of utter defeat. 

* * *

  
The Tarn mech was impressively purple, and that was _all_ Invicta could say of him. Even when pressed her creator hadn't said much of Tarn, only that he was a sociopathic, delusional, and violent.

"So like everyone else around here?" Thrax had asked curiously. 

Starscream had ignored them after that. 

And when they arrived in the hanger he had also, surprisingly, ignored Tarn. 

He had ranted about all the unpleasant things he would like to do to the mech on their march down to the hanger, but when he'd finally set optics on his hated enemy he'd done little else but make the rudest gesture Invicta had ever seen at him and pull Megatron aside for a hushed, furious conversation. 

Same old, same old. 

Invicta remained where Starscream had abandoned her and Thrax and stared up at the large, strange mech. He seemed equally interested in them, which was odd. Normally when her parents argued mechs couldn't help but stare. Even Mission was trying and failing to referee in whatever the argument was this time. 

Tarn's masked face tilted in curiosity. 

"I like your mask," Thrax pointed up at him, embarrassing Invicta deeply. 

Tarn shifted his gaze to him. His optics glowed softly behind the mask - and it ruined all the incredible stories Invicta had heard about his legendary brutality. 

"Thank you," he said simply. 

"What is it hiding?" Invicta cut right to the real questions. "A hideous scar?" 

"Yes." 

Invicta blinked, having to work to stifle her surprise at the blunt admission. 

Tarn dropped down into a low crouch, but he still cast them in shadow. Invicta tipped her head back fearlessly, watching dim optics flit across her frame. 

"You look much like your sire," Tarn finished his assessment, sounding impressed. "A future leader in the making."

The observation filled Invicta with pride. The other seekers' aboard the _Nemesis_ often complimented her Starscream-inherited features. Her optics, her wings- all her infuriatingly _dainty_ features. She couldn't compete with her brothers in seeker-valued attributes -she didn't have a tiny nose or narrow jaw, her hands were large and her fingers blunt. She wasn't graceful, and she couldn't twist herself into gymnastic-level contortions.

She always felt much more like Megatron's daughter, than she did Starscream's. 

"Yes, I know," she nodded confidently, feeling she may reluctantly like this mech. 

"With the attitude to match," he continued, sounding amused.

"What about my attitude?" Thrax asked excitedly, bouncing on his heels. "What's my future?"

"Don't embarrass yourself," Invicta muttered before Tarn was forced to come up with some placating nonsense. "If you're not careful your future's going to be with the Autobots." 

"No son of Megatron's would ever be an Autobot," Tarn stated firmly, sounding disgusted and insulted at the very idea. "You will both be fine Decepticons." 

Invicta felt a surge of annoyance with being grouped in the same category as _Thrax_. But any protest she could make was abruptly interrupted by Starscream's sudden insertion into the conversation. 

He bulldozed his way between her and Tarn, his wings up high and tense -a threat display Invicta only ever saw him use on Megatron when he was in danger of not getting his way. It seemed Tarn warranted the same level of ferocity. 

"Who gave you permission to speak with my offspring?!" He demanded pompously. Invicta wanted to melt into goo and sink through the gaps in the decking in embarrassment. 

"I see your extended leave of absence did little to humble you, Starscream," Tarn said pleasantly enough, dipping his head in that reverent way most Decepticons only did for Megatron. "I was merely admiring your handiwork. It seems you've found your true calling." 

Invicta assumed that was some sort of compliment, but she must have been wrong, because Starscream's fingers clenched into fists. Air hissed out of his vents like he was preparing his frame to attack. Thrax shrank back, worried, but Invicta took a step forward, keen to see how this would escalate. 

Sadly, Megatron ruined what could have been a great show. 

"And this is _precisely_ why I suggested you remain on the bridge," Megatron took Starscream's shoulder. Starscream shrugged him off angrily, not taking his optics off Tarn for a second. "I'll thank you not to provoke him, Tarn." 

"Of course, how foolish of me," Tarn was immediately apologetic. "I am aware how sensitive creators can become in the latter stages of their carriage. You have my sympathies, Starscream." 

" _Commander_ ," Starscream hissed out, vocaliser strained and hoarse. 

" _Not_ from what _I've_ heard," Tarn purred. 

Starscream flew forward, but Megatron was too fast, catching Starscream about the waist and spinning with him in one smooth movement so he was facing the opposite direction. Megatron released him and gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the exit. "You've made your point-"

"I have not-!" 

"Go." 

Starscream fired hate-filled, resentful looks back at Tarn and Megatron, then pinned Invicta and Thrax with a glare. "Get over here, we're leaving." 

Thrax ran to Starscream and grabbed his forearm. Despite his anger, Starscream didn't have the spark to shrug him off. Invicta trudged after them at a more sedate pace, glancing back longingly to where her eldest brother had moved to join Tarn and Megatron. 

Behind the purple mask, Tarn's optics met hers. He gave her the tiniest of nods, but it filled her with confidence. She may be the youngest (presently, at least) but she was clearly the best. 

"Invicta!" 

"I'm _coming_!" she yelled, snapped out of her daydreams. She stomped after her creator, once again cursing the absolute travesty it was that she was still sitting on the bench. 

It should have been _her_ heading down to the planet to fight the Troja rebels with Tarn. But her sire wouldn't listen to reason. Perhaps, she just needed to show him. 

* * *

  
Troja Minor was a dark, smokey planet. In terms of scenery there wasn't much to appreciate, unless you were the sort of person to enjoy endless fields of jagged black rock and menacing mountain ranges. Looking down on it from the viewport stretching along the side of the hanger, Mission could imagine it'd be the sort of place his parents would want to use as a vacation spot, to upkeep that 'edgy' brand they cultivated. 

It's real use was it's location between the Tcher system (a ring of planets rich in the natural resources perfect for producing energon) and a nearby neutral colony (ripe for exploitation). The people of Troja themselves were fairly primitive, being fifty foot tall rock people with no access to weaponry and little way of defending themselves beyond spewing acidic volcanic ash and lava from their mouths. It was insulting that the Decepticons even had to bother with this rebellion in the first place. Mission had heard Megatron spend many an evening grumbling over the waste in resources. 

Astrotrain sat transformed in the centre of the hanger, waiting impatiently for everyone to hurry up and get aboard. There was a slight delay as Drag Strip and Wildrider tried to push one another off the side of the boarding ramp and held up the queue, but the scuffle was brought to a sharp end when Tarn made his appearance through the elevator at the other end of the hanger, Megatron at his side. There was a sudden stampede to get into Astrotrain then, Ramjet's trine managing to wedge themselves in the doorway all at once. 

But to Mission's surprise _and_ mortification, it wasn't _just_ his sire who had come to see him off. Starscream had come to make one last plea for him to stay.

"Strika will we be awaiting your arrival at the rendezvous point," Megatron told him when he reached him, passing a data-pad over. "She will coordinate the ground troops. Slipstream has also made it planet-side but she doesn't have the numbers to launch an effective air assault. Keep an optic on her. She's a skilled but arrogant warrior." 

"-So don't let her push you around," Starscream came to stand beside Megatron, arms folded. 

"There's no danger of that," Mission muttered. 

"Don't be so sure," Starscream growled, optics darkening. "You're distantly related to her." 

That was news to Mission. He nodded, taking it all in. The Coneheads had been rammed through Astrotrain's entry hatch and the last stragglers were boarding now. Soundwave was waiting beside the ramp for him with Tarn.

"Soundwave will keep us up to date on the battle," His sire said, optics following where Mission was looking. "Should the situation go array, retreat." 

Mission felt a surge of heat at the implication, "I'm not a coward." 

"Which is precisely why Tarn will be deciding what is and is not a dangerous situation." Megatron gestured to the looming purple mountain of a mech waiting some ways behind them. "We all know how skewered your judgment can be." 

"And one last thing before you go," Starscream reached for his shoulder before he could flee for Astrotrain and escape them. Mission reluctantly mech his gaze. 

"Remember that am in the last third of a gestation cycle and that I am already operating under stress." Starscream pointed a finger at Mission's nose, gaze dark and serious. "Acting Commander or not, if I hear of any stupid stunts and you send me into an early stress-induced emergence, you'll never be allowed off this ship again. Clear?" 

Mission doubted that he'd be able to follow through on that but he decided it was best he not question Starscream's seriousness. "Understood." 

"Good," Starscream let his hand fall away from his shoulder and fidgeted. "...You know you don't have to go-"

"I'd suggest you board before your creator loses his nerve." Megatron nudged him along. 

"I'll be back before you know it!" Mission told them both, unable to fight back a feeling of giddiness as he jogged to the boarding ramp. 

Tarn and Soundwave followed him, and when he looked back as the ramp lifted and Astrotrain's engines rumbled into life, Megatron had a white knuckled grip on a downtrodden Starscream's wrist. 

Mission experienced a moment of guilt for putting them through this, before Astrotrain blasted out of the hanger and gunned it towards the dark planet below, and it was overwhelmingly replaced with anticipation. 


	7. Chapter 7

Astrotrain dipped below the thick layer of grey cloud and the planet's dark surface came into view. Mission leaned towards one of the portholes, keen to get a look at the landscape from their vantage point. He felt Tarn shift behind him, his tread's brushing Mission's back. Mission flicked a wing in annoyance. They hadn't even reached the planet and he was already chaffing under the oppressive watch of his glorified babysitter. 

Troja Minor was less primitive than reports had led him to believe. The battle had taken place in the heart of TerraJa, a city built from the same dark rock as it's mountainous landscape. It looked like it had once between a thriving -if dark- place, but now half the buildings were either smoking or reduced to rubble. The streets below looked deserted and derelict. 

As they descended, Mission spied the Decepticon forces they were joining with up ahead. They had fortified themselves behind a barricade of rock and broken building. 

Some miles east of the Decepticon's position, Mission could see a similar sort of barricade enclosing the edge of the city, it's makeshift walls merged with the mountain range overshadowing the urbanised landscape. The barricades were topped with advanced Cybertronian gun turrets - technology the primitive natives had no business possessing. Mission frowned as Astrotrain dipped below the buildings. 

For all Starscream's fretting, Mission didn't feel partially endangered when they touched down on black rock and the ramp lowered. A war-zone it may have been, it was eerily still on the planet. He moved to step onto the ramp when Tarn stopped him with an arm across his chest, wordlessly insisting to descend first. 

Mission rolled his optics. 

A hand patted his shoulder. Soundwave's. 

"Why weren't _you_ put in charge of 'watching me'?" Mission leant back to mutter as they followed Tarn down. "Why wasn't Skywarp?" 

Mission didn't care how loyal Tarn was to Megatron and The Cause. _Anyone_ would have been preferable company to a mech who openly hated his creator. If Soundwave knew why, he wasn't inclined to share anything with Mission. 

Astrotrain had landed them beside a row of temporary structures set up along the side of a ruinous street. Tarn beckoned for him to follow. Mission schooled his features into something stoic as he trailed after the larger mech. He would accept this treatment for now, but he wasn't going to put up with this the entire war. 

"You seem to think I'm here to take orders from you," he said. 

Tarn's masked gaze tilted. "We are _both_ here to take orders from General Strika. Have you had the privilege of meeting her?" 

"No." 

"Then I would suggest watching your tone," Tarn murmured carefully, slowing to fall into pace with him just before they reached the entrance to the largest structure- the Command Hub. "Your parentage may have afforded you certain privileges aboard your sire's ship, but Strika makes exceptions for no mech." 

Mission quirked a brow, "You must have a few bolts lose if you think _I'm_ privileged." 

Soundwave made a disapproving noise behind him, but Tarn sounded amused when he replied, "No, I do not think you are privileged. I _know_ you are. Your creator's reluctance to let his precious first-spark loose on the galaxy is proof of that." 

Mission's mouth dropped open in offence; but Tarn had already slipped into the structure. Mission looked to Soundwave for back up, but the Communications mech was being woefully unhelpful. 

"Thanks for sticking up for me," he snapped. 

"Tarn makes a better alley than he does enemy." Soundwave intoned before he could follow after the condescending jerk in a strop. "Wield him as you see fit." 

Mission rolled his optics again. 

* * *

  
Left aboard the ship with the infirm and the infantile, Starscream shuddered in revulsion at Megatron's suggestion he find Thundercracker and Skywarp and do with them ... _whatever_ it was he seemed to presume sparked seekers did with the abundance of free time they had. 

Starscream was still smarting over his argument with them. And further more, the thought of sitting around on the ship doing nothing while Mission was on the Pit-scape of a planet below, ducking blaster fire and fleeing bombs, sickened him. 

If Megatron had an ounce of sense he would withdraw all Decepticons from the surface and bombard the capital with the _Nemesis's_ guns until all rebellious life had been decimated. The Troja race were of no use to them, only the convenient location of their planet. 

So instead he found himself in the Communications Room, the monitoring of which had been handed over to Shockwave in Soundwave's absence. Starscream strode into the dark screen-filled room and took a seat next to the Science Officer. 

He could sense Shockwave staring at him. 

"What?!" He finally demanded. 

Shockwave minimised a screen full of field reports. "Is it wise for you to be here?" 

Starscream didn't respond, choosing instead to scowl at the shifting markers on the computerised maps. 

"The landing party have made contact with Strika's forces," Shockwave confirmed. 

Starscream tapped his fingers against his armrests distractedly. 

"If you are finding this stressful-"

"The only thing I'm finding stressful is _you_ , Shockwave," Starscream snarled, hoping to put the faceless busybody back in his place. He couldn't be sure if it was just protocols acting up, but he was beginning to feel like mecha took advantage of his carriage to undermine him. 

He was proved right a second later when Shockwave reached for his commlink and made no effort to hide who he was hailing. 

"Don't call Megatron!" 

"I'm sure our leader will be interested to learn of your unhealthy focus on this battle."

"I'm being vigilant!"

"This, from the seeker who once claimed ground assaults were beneath his notice?" Shockwave queried smugly. 

"That was before my son was thrown into leading one!" 

Shockwave, motivated more by spite than his claimed logic, hailed Megatron anyway. 

* * *

  
The temporary Command Hub reminded Mission of some of the places he and Starscream had stayed in his youth, on the less reputation of the planets they had attempted to make a home on. Generators were running at full power, creating a low hum of constant noise than merged with the murmurs of conversing mecha. The holographic map in the centre of the room flickered every third second as it struggled for power, and the room was dark save for the light it gave off, giving the unfamiliar group of Decepticons he was walking into a menacing aura. 

But none so menacing as Tarn himself.

The closest Decepticons were more than surprised to see him. Those with visible faces were unable to hide their horror. Mission wondered if it was because it had been some time since Tarn had been assigned to a war campaign and away from his 'bureaucratic work in upholding faction standards' -as Soundwave had always diplomatically described the D.J.Ds role. Mission had never known what he'd meant until Starscream had just come out and said it like it was - "murdering traitors". 

And there must have been a lot of _those_ to have kept Tarn in his line of work for so long. 

"You are late," a menacing, strangely accented voice announced. 

Mission turned, and around Tarn's broad bulk stood the mech he had only ever seen on his sire's classified video calls and recorded battle footage; Strika. 

A fellow tank, she stood a metre taller than Tarn, but with arms twice as thick and hands the breadth of Mission's wings. Her optics were narrow and impatient over her mouth-vent, which was slightly downturned at the corners, forcing her features into a permanent grimace. 

Thankfully, she was addressing Tarn and not him. 

"General Strika- a pleasant surprise to see you all still in one piece." 

"You were due to arrive with the sparkling an hour ago," Strika turned her back on him and used large fingers to jab at the buttons on the holographic map's control panel, changing the view. "We are wasting valuable daylight hours." 

Missions was surprised to hear it was daytime here, but given that the cloud cover was so thick it'd be difficult to tell anyway. 

"His creator was reluctant to let him go," Tarn explained, and with a blast of mortification Mission realised the 'sparkling' they were talking about was _him_. 

"I'm not-!"

Soundwave quickly placed a hand on his shoulder, helm shaking 'no', but Strika had already turned to consider him. With the full focus of her dark optics staring into his very spark, Mission felt an extra wave of inadequacy wash over him, surrounded as he was by so many hulking, battle-scared tanks. 

"Whatever foolish Vosian ideals you creator has filled your processor with, of heritage reflecting your worth, they do not belong here," Strika took a heavy step towards him. "Whatever temporary rank you imagine you hold, you are here to watch and study under the tutelage of your betters. Nothing more." 

Mission's mind was woefully empty of clever comebacks. There was little else to do but meet Strika's gaze and nod stiffly, feeling foolish for ever having thought anyone would take _his_ orders. 

Soundwave came to his rescue then, handing Strika a data-pad. She accepted it without taking her optics off Mission. After a sufficiently reprimanding stare, she flicked it on. 

"...I am short two seekers." Her optics narrowed. "Two _outlier_ seekers."

"Medical leave," Soundwave explained. 

Strika tossed the data-pad down with a slap. "This is not ideal."

"I'm sure _I_ can make up the numbers," another voice spoke. 

Mission had not noticed the presence of another seeker in the room. Behind all the hulking war builds she was harder to notice. She was purple and teal and black, and held an air of sophistication and style about her that was so intimidating it eclipsed even Strika. 

Slipstream, Mission realised instantly. A distant relation- Starscream had said. There was some resemblance in how she held herself; the superior arch of her brow, the angle of her wings. 

She sauntered around the holographic map and came to stand beside Mission. "Why, there's a spare seeker here." 

"Absolutely not." Strika admonished, at the same time Tarn growled, "Unacceptable." 

"Mission; here to observe and lead." Soundwave agreed. "No direct combat." 

"I can't believe any creation of Starscream's is going to sit out on an air assault," Slipstream smiled, optics bright with mischief. She looked down on Mission with something that could have been fondness. "Besides, the Trojas have no airforce. We'd be evading ground fire only. Even a youngling could manage." 

"The mounted gun turrets only need one hit on a seeker his size," Strika pointed angrily. 

"I've been shot at before," Mission was unable to tolerate silence a moment longer. He tilted his chin up and met Strika's glare head on. "I can-"

"No," she boomed, short and to the point, immediately shutting him down. 

She turned away. Mission's jaw flexed angrily. "But I can-!"

Tarn's massive hands gripped his shoulders and twisted him around, back to face the door. "You have said your piece." 

"Funny," Mission muttered, glaring at the ground. "Sounded more like I'd said nothing at all." 

"I will summon you when I have patience to spare for his distractions." Strika turned at the neck to speak to Tarn. "Until then, keep out of my way." 

* * *

  
Any hope Starscream might have had for getting peace and quiet in the communications room shattered when the narrow doorway opened and his extended headache -in the form of his offspring and leader- came thundering into the too small room. 

"As I suspected," Megatron began pompously. 

"You didn't suspect anything, Shockwave called you." 

"My lord," Shockwave began in that droning, weary sort of voice. "As you are aware, the equipment in this room is not only vital but exceptionally difficult to repair." 

Starscream was about to ask him what he was blathering on about when the purple mech stepped aside to reveal Thrax, jabbing at the buttons on the consoles like it was a video game. The computer responsible for monitoring the _Nemesis's_ security shield and scanning incoming vessels began to malfunction. 

"Thrax!" Megatron barked, snatching his scruff bar and hauling him back. Thrax shouted in surprise, his pedes momentarily leaving the floor. Then, to Shockwave's horror, Megatron thumped the side of the computer to correct the glitch. The screen flashed, before reassuming normal activity. 

Shockwave stared at it silently. 

"Leave Shockwave to his work," Megatron ordered Starscream, losing some of the authority in his voice in how he was struggling to round up their sparklings. Thrax was fighting the grip on his scruff bar just to be difficult, and Invicta was doing everything in her power to stay out of his reach entirely. "Working yourself up over this will achieve nothing." 

"It's something to do," Starscream argued, and blocked Invicta with his foot when she tried to slip around him. Megatron caught her and dangled her at arms length to avoid kicks and swinging fists. 

"There are _other things_ we can do if you need something to keep your mind occupied," Megatron told him, holding both sparklings aloft now. "Quickly, while I have them-"

"What _other_ things?" Starscream hissed, knowing _exactly_ what he meant. 

Megatron blinked. Thrax stopped wriggled and looked between them suspiciously. Shockwave cleared his vocaliser loudly, which didn't help the situation. 

Invicta managed to use her sire's distraction to kick herself free. She hit the floor running and slipped through Megatron's legs. Following her example. Thrax broke Megatron's grip too and took off after his sister. "Vicky, wait!" 

Megatron looked after them, grumbling under his breath, "Shockwave, monitor my unruly offspring on the security systems. If you see them wandering in the direction of the hanger, alert the mechs on sentry duty."

"Oh, relegating parental duties to your sub commander," Starscream folded his arms. "How like you." 

"I wouldn't need to assign mechs babysitting duties if you would cooperate for once in your miserable existence," Megatron pointed, "I can't tell who is more of a flight risk; you or Invicta!" 

"My lord," Shockwave interrupted quietly. 

"What?!" 

"Your daughter is breaking into the armoury again," Shockwave's blaster-arm was extended to point towards one of the security screens, where Invicta was indeed climbing up onto Thrax's shoulders so she could reach the air vent above the armoury door. 

Megatron spat a curse and swept from the room. 

Starscream sat down and went back to studying the map markers, a little smirk playing at his mouth. And just think, when these two new little ones arrived, Megatron would have even less control. 

Good. 

* * *

Mission had garnered a few curious looks from the Decepticons milling about the base camp. Most of them had been stuck on the planet for some time. The colour of their armour was dusted with a thick layer of soot. Many of them sported burns and misshapen armour, many more were sprinkled with blaster fire. Any hope of interacting with any of them died with Tarn at his side though. They parted before the huge mech in a sea of barely veiled panic, averting their optics, dropping their helms. 

"Why does everyone hate you?" 

Tarn didn't flinch. He was infuriatingly more levelheaded than his creators. Mission wondered what it would take to tip him over the edge. "They hate what I represent." 

"Which is?" 

"A nobler time." Tarn stopped and pointed him towards a non-sentient transport shuttle that was being used as a rest area. Mecha were huddled around, gambling with their fuel rations. The second Tarn's gaze fell on them they scattered, and Mission begrudging climbed into the empty transport, now protected from everything, including the clouds. 

"What are you going to do? Lock me in?" 

"Rest," Tarn ordered, stationing himself against the doorway. "Strika will expect you to be alert and receptive when she summons you again." 

"Would anyone even notice if I wasn't?" 

Tarn turned to meet his gaze. "I will. And so will your sire. I will be writing a thorough report on your conduct." 

"Did he ask you to?" Mission felt a sudden jolt of worry. 

"He did not need to," Tarn looked him over. 

Mission was saved from what would likely have been an incredibly boring evening by the appearance of the Coneheads. 

So far the seeker trine had been no more eager to interact with Mission's appointed guardian than any of the other Decepticons on the war torn planet. Mission sat up in interest, wondering if they'd been in contact with his creator. He was tempted to let Starscream have his way after all and return to the _Nemesis_ early-

"What?" Tarn demanded before they had a chance to speak. They flinched back as one, before Ramjet managed to recover. 

"Er, we were talking with some of the Rainmakers," he thumbed behind himself in no particular direction. "And they mentioned passing by some intelligence officer, named Silversmith?" 

Tarn stiffened. Mission leaned forward, wondering what this could be about. 

Ramjet continued, "Wasn't there someone on your List-"

"I am well aware of the designations residing on the List," Tarn's optics flashed down at them. He hesitated, and appeared to be weighing something up in his mind. Finally he turned to Mission. "Remain here. If you are not right where I leave you when I return-"

"You'll what?" Mission snarked, sick of being treated like a sparkling with no more sense than Thrax. "Tell my sire?" 

"Yes," Tarn glared, knowing full well that was a very viable threat. "This will not take long." 

He swept off with the air of a mech on a valiant mission. 

Mission looked at the fidgeting Coneheads. "Thanks, I owe you." 

"Not you we did it for," Thrust said. 

The shuttle rocked on it's landing gear as a figure climbed inside. Mission twisted around and came face to face with Slipstream's dazzlingly smile- deceptively bright and pleasant for such a manipulative seeker. 

"Fancy a flight?" She offered him a hand. 

Imagining Tarn's face behind that mask when he came back to find him gone would be more than worth it. 

He clasped Slipstream's servo and let himself be hauled to his feet, no questions asked. She kept hold of him and dragged him away from the command structures. "Flown in combat before?" 

"You said there was nothing in the air here?" Mission frowned. 

"Can't hurt to be careful." 

Mission nodded, "Once or twice." And only with Starscream, he decided not to mention. 

"You'll be my wing-mate, then," Slipstream threw an arm around his shoulders -Mission was annoyed to realise even she was taller than him. "Just follow my lead." 

* * *

Megatron was stood with one arm shoulder deep in an air vent, the other locked around a dangling Thrax when his comm beeped. With a mutter of frustration he answered it wirelessly. 

"What?!" 

" _Scrapper, sir,"_ Scrapper greeted him gruffly. " _Thundercracker's gone into his emergence_." 

Megatron paused just as his hand wrapped around Invicta's ankle inside the vent. 

He hadn't given much thought to the _other_ sparkling on the way, consumed more with the incoming prospect of caring for his own impending twins. It wasn't much his business at any rate. They weren't his trine. 

But the prospect of living with a sparkling on board his warship that was not his own was going to be a new sort of challenge. He wasn't sure how much patience he would have for infantile misbehaviour when it wasn't his _own_ coding wrecking the havoc. 

And given _this_ sparkling's parentage, it certainly would be a trouble maker. 

He was knocked out of his surprise when Invicta kicked his wrist. He hissed, shoved his arm deeper, and managed to grab her foot again. 

"Inform Starscream," he stated into his comm, straining to drag his sparkling out. Invicta sunk her claws into the vent and there was a loud screeching sound as her claws rendered the metal. "He'll want to be there." 

" _Yes, sir_." Scrapper sounded reluctant to go ahead with that idea. Starscream's presence in the med bay was never advisable, even when he was the patient. " _And yourself_?" 

Megatron had no desire to witness such a thing. He had been witness to Invicta's emergence and it had hardly been the spark-warming memory that everyone painted it out to be. He finally freed the sparkling in question from the vent and let her dangle upside-down from her foot for a moment, glaring at her as she frowned petulantly. To think she had ever been so small and helpless...

"Summon me when the sparkling has arrived," he added as an afterthought, because perhaps there was something appealing about newly emerged sparklings. And Thundercracker's and Skywarp's _would_ have some connection to him, even if it was only through Starscream and his own offspring. It would be something like a cousin to them. 

" _Yes, sir,"_ Scrapper agreed. 

Megatron cut the comm and felt a shift against his arm. Thrax had tilted his head back to look at him. "Can we see the sparkling?" 

"Soon," Megatron loosened his arm and let Thrax slip his grasp and drop to the floor. Invicta though, he kept hold of, flipping her right side up but tucking her under his arm. 

"I hate sparklings," she muttered. 

"You are one," Megatron reminded her darkly. 

His fingers were then grasped by an eager Thrax. "Can I name it?" 

Megatron struggled to free his fingers from Thrax's clingy grasp. "What did you have in mind?" He humoured him. 

"Something nice, like Rainbow." 

"I would mercy kill anyone unfortunate enough to be called _Rainbow_." Invicta sneered from her horizontal position under Megatron's arm. 

"And you wonder why I can't entrust you with a weapon," Megatron murmured, giving up on trying to escape Thrax's hold and deciding to just endure it. "Come. It's time the two of you recharged." 

"I'm not tired," Thrax protested. 

"I am," Megatron murmured wearily. "Look on the positives- by the time you awaken you'll have a brand new seeker to meet." 

Thrax's wings perked up high at the prospect. Invicta rolled her optics and made sickened noises. 

* * *

Slipstream cut through the air with an effortless grace that Starscream's showmanship could never hope to compete with. Mission did his best to match her turn for turn, but just didn't have the manoeuvrability. He privately cursed his sire's coding for that. 

She took them above the thick, dark clouds. The guns turrets used heat detecting sensors, so poor visibility wouldn't protect them from the automated weapons, but it would the Troja's armed with ground to air missiles.

The air was still and dark for what felt like too long. Mission held himself tense, watching Slipstream's tail for the first twitch that signalled the start of evasive manoeuvres. 

There was a crack from down below and a red streak of light broke through the cloud and shot through the air inches from Slipstream's left wing. Her laugh burst through the comm. 

" _Stay with me,"_ she called to him, and with no other warning, plunged through the clouds. 

Mission followed her dive, pulsing spark thrumming through his frame, electrifying his every sensor. Red streaks of lights shot past him from every direction. He heard a whoosh as the Conehead trine spilt off from them and concentrated their fire on the gun turrets. 

Slipstream took him into a sharp turn and headed for the few skyscrapers still standing in the city. 

" _Incoming_ ," she warned. 

There were no targets on Mission's scopes. His confusion was short lived though. 

Slipstream's reassurance that the Troja's had no airforce was accurate, but the rebel fighters had managed to secure themselves several drone ships; slim, triangular, and so small it was near impossible to get a lock on them. Two came shooting towards them and Mission fired at them wildly, cursing as the drones twisted onto their sides to reduce their chances of being hit. 

A third came whooshing up at them. Slipstream threw herself into a sharp barrel roll and fired off one shot. It hit the drone in the fuselage and it exploded instantly. It's wreckage rained down on the streets below, creating dozens of smaller explosions among the Trojas guarding the gun turrets. 

Slipstream wriggled in flight. 

"Show off," Mission comm'ed her, quickly growing to like her. Even if Starscream hadn't mentioned their relation, Mission was pretty sure he might have been able to guess for himself. 

The remaining drones doubled back and chased them down. Slipstream led them behind one of the buildings, using it as temporary cover before pulling a reverse spin, flipping upside down above Mission, and then releasing her full arsenal on the unsuspecting drones. The dark sky lit up with explosions. Mission followed her around and flew through the remnants of fire, letting the flames lick at his armour. 

There was one drone left, but realising it was outclassed it's remote pilot had put it into retreat. Wordlessly, Slipstream opened her flaps and fell back, allowing Mission to take the lead. Seeing a chance to impress her, Mission threw himself into the same manoeuvres Slipstream had executed, and shot the drone out of the sky mid barrel roll. 

" _You're a natural_ ," her voice came over the comm as she pulled up alongside him. Her wing nudged the underside of his in playful encouragement. 

Mission's spark brightened with pride. 

* * *

Excitement, for a seeker, was literally contagious when trine-mates didn't have the decency keep their bond in check. 

Starscream would have liked to ignore the ancient, primal pull of his trine, but he was being bombarded with second-hand fuzzy feelings over the prospect of his already oversized 'family' becoming larger yet. He may have been a creator himself but he was in no shape or form a 'lover of sparklings', even those belonging to his closest comrades.

He forced himself to ignore the fluff and appear begrudging and put out, and rehearsed how aloof he was going to behave when he reached the med bay and was forced to witness the emergence of a whole new seeker. His spark was pulsing away brightly, his entire frame tingling with a sort of energy. 

For a brief second he feared _he_ was going into an emergence too, prompted along by Thundercracker's own labour, but the unsettled feelings in his tank were only nerves. The twins were staying put, for now. 

Hopefully his trine would be too infatuated with their little one to remember how poorly their last interaction had gone. Skywarp might not even let him into the bay, immature moron he was. Starscream dreaded to think what he would be like as a sire - poor Thundercracker. But then, he supposed he would be around to lend a hand. 

He reprimanded himself for such domestic thoughts, shaking his helm as he walked. He was _not_ obsessed with sparklings! 

He took a short cut to the medbay -wearier and more worn down by his condition these days- and used the security corridors that passed by the hanger bay. He was so distracted by his own thoughts he didn't notice the smoking door panel until the stark stench of burnt plastic met his olfactory. 

Sensitive to smells, he threw a hand over his olfactory and gagged, whirling around to glare at the offending source. Closer inspection told him the lock had been melted though - not his unruly sparkling's ordinary style. 

And... he had just been sat watching Megatron grapple with them inside the air vent by the armoury. That was six levels _above_ the hanger. They couldn't have passed through here, unless one of them had vivisected Skywarp and stolen his warp drive... 

Unsettled -and fighting the little voice in his head that said he was just paranoid and stressed because of his protocols- he activated his comm. Before he could enter a frequency or sound an alert, a huge black shape emerged in his peripheral vision. Like a moving mountain. 

He whipped around and went to fire when the intruder opened a mouth filled with fire and spewed thick, noxious black smoke. It filled the corridor and darkened Starscream's optics with soot, blinding him. He snarled, lifting an arm to shield his stinging optics, when rock-rough fingers closed around his wing from behind. 

He snapped an elbow back and it hit a wall of solid stone. His wing bent back and the pain shot through the appendage and down his spine, causing him to convulse with a shout. The smoke filled his vents and started to suffocate him. He couldn't see. He couldn't breath. 

Pressure closed in on him. He was being crushed by living mountains. 

His vents coughed, his filters too clogged with ash to suck in air. Consciousness began to slip away from him. 

He felt his gyros shift as he tipped towards the floor. His sensor net was active just long enough for him to experience the privilege of his helm hitting the deck with a _crack_. 


	8. Chapter 8

Megatron sent Starscream a few brief messages to inform him that he was performing his duties as sire and putting their unruly sparklings to berth. Never one to appreciate the effort his hard working leader made, Starscream didn't respond. It wasn't unusual - " _You're hardly doing me a favour by looking after your **own** brats!_"- Starscream was never satisfied. 

It felt quiet in his quarters with the sparklings recharging, Mission away, and Starscream with his trine, but Megatron felt too restless to relax and enjoy the brief peace. There was an odd feeling brewing in the back of his mind, a sense that something wasn't quite right. A premonition, almost. 

Perhaps he had underestimated how upset Starscream was over the events of the last few weeks. As ridiculous as he felt it was for them to be arguing over leaving their son in Tarn's care, it had never been Megatron's intention to deliberately distress Starscream. Not at a time like this anyway. Perhaps he should reach out. 

_I will join you and your trine as soon as all parties involved are presentable_ , he sent, hoping his willingness to be involved in the uncomfortably close bonds trine's had with one another would win his resentful mate over. 

There was no response.

Megatron grumbled over it for a while, distracting himself with cleaning up after Starscream, smoothing out his side of the berth, clearing away his tat. 

Eventually, his comm beeped. High priority, from Tarn. 

Dreading whatever news his loyal Decepticon was about to bring him and how Starscream might react to it, Megatron answered with a wince. 

"He had better not be injured," he warned straight off the bat. 

" _I'm afraid I wouldn't know_ ," Tarn began smoothly, sounding more annoyed than he did stressed. Which was a small relief. _"It pains me to admit this but it appears your son has given me the slip. He has more of his creator in him than is particularly ideal_." 

Megatron sucked in two deep steadying breaths, reminding himself that it was Starscream that panicked and fretted over Mission and not himself. He should have expected this. When the stakes were high there was always _one_ of his seekers going astray. 

"I wouldn't take it to spark." He said eventually, "He's a known escape artist." 

" _He is currently out of my reach, galavanting through the skies with **Commander** Slipstream,"_ Tarn's voice dripped with contempt. 

Tarn really didn't have much luck with seekers. 

_Neither do you_ , Megatron thought to himself privately, recalling the disrespect regularly flung his way by insubordinate fliers, to say nothing of his own mate and offspring. He was tempted to suggest potential punishments to Tarn -if the tank ever managed to get his charge back on the ground- but then realised nothing he could concoct would compete with what Strika may have in mind. In fact-

"Ensure it is Slipstream that bears the responsibility for his disobedience," Megatron advised, "Many Decepticons, older and wiser than he, have been led astray by manipulative seekers." 

" _An apt observation, Sir_ ," Tarn said, and it might have been the distortion of their signal, but Megatron could have sworn he'd detected a hint of sarcasm to his tone. He dismissed it. It was Tarn, after all. 

"Fortunately for all our sakes, Starscream is otherwise occupied," he reassured Tarn. "It would be in everyone's best interests to keep this between us." 

" _Occupied_?" Tarn's voice held an uncharacteristic note of interest now. " _Not in emergence...?"_

"Not his, no," Megatron denied sadly, and hadn't realised how much he was looking forward to that until just then. "But soon. Very soon," he cleared his vocaliser. "Which is precisely why there won't be any further calls like this, understood." 

" _Yes, my lord._ " 

Megatron cut the comm, and overwhelmed with his sudden surge of emotions, brought up Starscream's comm frequency, typing out an unbearably sappy, confession -all of three words long- before suddenly losing his nerve and deleting it. 

He had just warned Tarn not to create stressful situations for Starscream. Perhaps he should take his own advice, and not send foolishly emotional messages that would only spiral the compromised seeker into further disarray.

* * *

  
Mission had hoped Slipstream would let him fly off into the mountains to hide from potential repercussions for the remainder of the campaign, or at least until Tarn had cooled off a little. 

" _You don't know him well, do you_?" Slipstream asked over the comm, pulling a U-turn and leading him back behind Decepticon lines. 

"No." 

" _He holds grudges. Time will not improve his mood. Nor will it Strika's._ " 

Mission didn't even want to contemplate the General's reaction.

When they landed back within the grounds of the Decepticon camp, Tarn did't immediately barge through the loitering rank-and-files to lecture and admonish and _threaten_ him with a poor performance report. It wasn't much of a relief, as Slipstream led him towards the Command Hub. 

"We've received a summons," she said solemnly. "Brace yourself." 

She didn't sound particularly scared, but she _was_ Starscream's distant cousin -apparently- and Mission had seen his creator face off against Megatron's ferocious temper tantrums with nary a flinch, so perhaps their coding simply lacked the normal fear programming everyone's else's did? 

If it was genetic, it would certainly explain Invicta trying to volunteer for frontline duty at the ripe old age of eight. 

Inside the Command Hub was a scenario worse than what Mission had braced himself for. He expected Tarn, looming and furious and purple. Perhaps even Soundwave shaking his helm in disapproval behind him. But he was faced with the entirety of the gathered command staff, Strika included, who if Mission had thought was intimidating before was looking downright _apocalyptic_ now, ready to rip him and Slipstream in two. 

She took a great thudding step, "Do you know the punishment for insubordination?" 

Slipstream matched her step forward, "We did you a favour, Strika. The gun turrets were a problem-"

Strika's attention her snapped to her instead. "A secondary issue. Your actions have driven the Troja underground, into the tunnel systems under the mountains. They have sealed themselves in and are beyond the reach of our guns." 

Mission dared to glance up at Tarn. The larger mech was already looking down on him, his shadow stretching to loom over Mission. The large mech exhaled loudly, his engines rumbling ominously like an Insecticon making a threat display. Mission sidestepped behind Slipstream. 

She was still arguing with Strika, and from what Mission could gather Megatron's favourite War General had more in common with Starscream than any of them might have realised. After little progress made in fighting the rebels and with the Troja's sudden advancement in warfare, Strika's Plan B had come right out of Starscream's playbook - Withdraw the troops from the surface and go scorched earth. Bombard the planet from orbit and decimate the city. 

But with the Troja forces now safely nestled unground, they had lost their chance. 

Tempers were running high and Mission began to understand the pressures these mechs were under. Strika's forces had been here for months, living in hot, sooty, uncomfortable conditions and fighting against an enemy they considered beneath them to start with. Whatever compassion they might have had for the civilians caught in the crossfire it had been exhausted. 

"If you had bothered to include me in these plans-!" Slipstream was arguing. 

"I do not feel it necessary to consult with an Air Marshal when her input is unnecessary and unwanted," Strika snapped, and the tone of this argument sounded strikingly similar to the sort Mission heard at home. 

"You were here to provide air support, and **_you_** -" unfortunately Strika hadn't forgotten Mission's role in the mess and she turned her furious gaze back on him, "-were to remain seen but not heard. War is not a place for thrill-seeking and showboating." 

She lifted her dark optics to Tarn. "Return him to his creator before I return him to _The_ Creator." She warned. 

Tarn's large hand wrapped around Mission's shoulder and began to take him to the exit. Mission didn't bother to shrug him off. Behind him he heard Strika start to outline their new plan for eradicating the rebel forces. 'Scorched Earth 2.0' by the sounds of it -using the miners to dig down under the tunnels the Troja's were hiding in and place explosive charges. 

Mission shuddered at the idea. Megatron had shared stories of the cave-ins and mine collapses he had lived in before the war, millions of years ago on Cybertron. It wasn't an experience he would wish on anyone, even dumb, violent aliens like the Trojas. 

"This is disappointing," Tarn's voice was heavy when he finally spoke, clearly deciding Mission hadn't been admonished enough. "Your sire spoke so highly of you." 

Mission had heard Tarn had the ability to talk people to death. He wondered if this was what they meant. If it was possible to be shamed into an early deactivation, he was feeling pretty close to it. 

"I didn't know Slipstream was disobeying orders." 

"You knew you were disobeying _my_ orders," Tarn was unsympathetic. "This was something your creator also struggled with. That personal glory comes second to the needs of the cause." 

Mission shuttered his optics and dropped to sit heavily on a nearby crate, propping his chin on his fists. "Are we leaving or what?" He muttered. 

"When there is a transport free to return us-"

"I can fly myself." 

"And if you had proved yourself in anyway a trustworthy individual, I would allow it." Tarn sat on a crate next to him. Mission heard it groan under his weight. "But not to worry, this will give us plenty of time to revisit your sire's work. You have shown a concerning lack of appreciation for his teachings." 

Mission had only once had Megatron's work inflicted on him, an abridged version during his swearing in. But Tarn, to Mission's horror, pulled out a max-storage data-pad and began to read the very first passage of _Towards Peace_. 

Mission dropped his helm into his hands and did his best to tune it out.

* * *

  
The next morning arrived and Starscream had yet to return to Megatron. 

Given how unlikely it was that Starscream would spend the night in the med-bay waiting around for the faction's newest seeker to make an appearance, Megatron assumed the sparkling had arrived at some point in the early hours and Starscream had become too enraptured with it to have thought to return to his _own_ offspring. 

Megatron supposed he ought to make an appearance, if not simply because he was their leader and this was his ship, but because over the last few years Thundercracker and Skywarp had slyly and methodically carved out a place for themselves within his spark. And with so many individuals now demanding such personal devotion from him ( _six_ , in fact, all seekers to no one's surprise), it was becoming rather taxing. He could only hope this new sparkling kept itself well out of his business. 

With Starscream's lack of communication Megatron thought it best to call ahead to Medical, just in case. The very last scenario he wanted to walk in on was a still in-progress emergence. 

Scrapper picked up in after the first tone, and if he was free enough to answer a comm call all must have been well after all. " _Med-bay_ ," he grunted. 

Megatron jumped straight to the point, "Has it arrived?"

Scrapper accurately guessed what 'it' he was referring to and hummed down the line, " _Three hours ago,_ " he confirmed. " _Fully functioning, no issues. Quiet though."_

Megatron resisted the temptation to joke that it may only _seem_ quiet after Scrapper had experienced Thrax and Invicta's emergences. They took after their creator, whether they admitted it or not. 

"I'm on my way down," Megatron warned him, crossing his quarters and palming the door panel to Thrax's room. "Inform the new parents." 

" _Yes, sir_." 

The line cut just as Thrax rolled over in berth, optics lit at different brightnesses and wings askew. "Sire?" 

"Do you want to see the sparkling or not?" 

Thrax sprung into action, suddenly awake and overexcited. Megatron regretted telling him who they were visiting. If he had simply kept it to himself until they'd arrived he might have enjoyed a few more minutes precious peace. 

Invicta was an entirely different problem. She woke the moment her door panel was pressed but was far from inclined to get out of berth, slinking under the covers with a resentful scowl, knowing exactly where she was about to be dragged off to. 

"You're not a teenager yet," Megatron growled, one fist balled in the covers she was stubbornly clinging to. "Get up-"

He pulled the covers, and Invicta still attached to then, off the berth. She slid to the floor with a light _thud_. "I'm not interested in sparklings." 

"And you think I am?" Megatron queried.

"Then why are we going?" 

"For the same reason I watched your creator suffer through sixteen hours of labour all for the _privilege_ of witnessing your emergence," Megatron took her wrist and hauled her to her pedes. "Because we have a duty-"

"That's different," Invicta argued, stomping her pedes as he dragged her behind him. Thrax was waiting for them by the door, bouncing on his pedes. " _I_ didn't get Thundercracker sparked."

"How did Skywarp spark Thundercracker?" Thrax asked curiously. 

Megatron hurried him and his sister out the door, "You can ask your creator when we get to the med-bay." 

It was quiet in Medical; a good sign. The weeks after Thrax and Invicta's respective emergences screaming and wailing could be heard from every corner of the ship -and not always just the sparkling's. The idea of three seekerlets coexisting on the ship together didn't seem so perilous now if only two of them were going to be noisemakers. Megatron could already see himself liking this sparkling. 

The bay was empty, the Constructicons wisely retreating from the area for the duration of their visit -less out of an unwillingness to intrude and likely because Invicta and Thrax had a habit of 'playing' with the tools and 'testing them out' on their owners. 

A huge curtain hung across one of the medical berth's for privacy. Megatron paused before it, unsure how to approach the situation. 

Invicta, impatient and already bored, scoffed and rudely yanked the curtain aside with a flurry of fabric and no warning. Horrible child. 

Thundercracker was reclined across the berth on his back, the same weary, drained, appearance Megatron had come to expect of a new creator. His chest over his spark casing was covered in cooling pads. Keeping vigil over him was Skywarp, and in his arms-

"Where are it's _wings_?" Invicta demanded loudly, in a thoroughly disgusted tone. 

Megatron blinked at the sudden onslaught of déjà vu. 

At just hours old the wingless-sparkling in Skywarp's hands was completely grey, but it _was_ a seeker. Despite Invicta's rude greeting Skywarp smiled brightly, turning the tiny object over in his hands so they could see it's back, and the beginnings of wing-nubs poking it out it. 

"They're here," he said softly. 

"They're pathetic," Invicta muttered. 

Megatron subtly curled a hand around her mouth to prevent her from speaking further. 

"Did you name it already?" Thrax was asking eagerly, leaning towards Thundercracker, "Can I name it? I have ideas!"

Invicta pulled at her sire's fingers, desperate to insult her brother. Megatron held fast. 

Thundercracker didn't respond. He didn't seem capable of it. His brow was creased as if in pain. Concerned, Megatron released Invicta to approach him, gingerly touching the backs of his fingers to the seeker's forehead.

"Hook says he'll be okay," Skywarp reassured him with an uneasy smile. "He overtaxed his spark. Too much stress, they think." Skywarp glanced down at the little frame in his arms. "Weird though, he was fine at the start..." 

"Please can I name the sparkling?" Thrax was begging at their feet. 

Megatron regretted bringing his offspring now. "When you have sparklings of your own, you can name them whatever ridiculous designation you like," he said firmly. 

Thrax slumped, disheartened. 

"Sorry Thrax," Skywarp shrugged apologetically, "I already gave him a designation while Thundercracker was too hopped up on pain suppressors to stop me. Hook's programmed it in." 

"Oh dear," Megatron braced himself, sharing a subtle grimace with Invicta. He should have come sooner. 

"I called him Stormbound," Skywarp grinned, playing with a little foot. 

Megatron was pleasantly surprised. "A fine name." 

"Stormy for short." 

"I spoke too soon," Megatron murmured, rubbing his head. He wondered why a sensible, coherent person hadn't stopped Skywarp. _He_ certainly wouldn't be referring to any seeker within his ranks as 'Stormy', even the smallest of them. 

It boggled his mind that Starscream would have allowed this. Which reminded him who else he had come here to see. 

"Where is Starscream?" He turned slowly to survey the med-bay. 

Skywarp was smiling down at his son, stroking his tiny fingers appreciatively. "Who?" He asked distantly. 

"Your _trinemate_ ," Megatron's patience started to wear away. He smacked the privacy curtain aside again, seeing no sign of him. "Where, Skywarp?" 

Skywarp glanced up, his mouth falling open.

"Starscream?" He looked at the zoned out Thundercracker then back at his leader, his optics brightening fearfully. "You mean ...he's not been with you?" 

* * *

  
Starscream struggled to breathe, his vents were heavy and laboured. There was something locked across the lower half of his face. A muzzle? A gag? It's magnetic locks were keeping his jaw clenched shut. He swallowed. His mouth was so dry his tongue felt rough. 

He was lying on his side on an uncomfortably rocky surface. Every minuet shift scratched his paint and he whined when his sensors registered the restrictive pinch of chains wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. 

He heard voices, speaking some archaic rumbling nonsense. The language sounded like a distant avalanche, so low the syllables weren't so much heard as they were felt deep at his core. In the space between his hips and his chest, the lives within him stirred, and his spark pulse quickened as the gravity of his situation began to set in. He was underground, but he recognised the lingering smell of sulphur and smoke. He was on Troja Minor, somehow... 

The rumbling sound drew closer, and Starscream looked up to find towering mountains of bipedal black rock above him, lines of red glowing faintly over their bodies, lava running through them like energon did his own fuel lines. Their glass eyes were so dark they were barely distinguishable from the rest of their face. 

Starscream shifted onto his back with a muffled snarl, glaring over the top of the gag. A rocky hand reached for him and he thrashed, frantically trying to wriggle his wrists free of the prehistoric bindings. 

The ground shook as another monster dropped to kneel by his head. His spark started pulsing harder, drumming through his frame, panicking him. His vents came sharp and fast but he still wasn't getting enough air. His head felt heavy and his processor slow-

He was turned back into his side and they held him there, his thrashing hindering them little. Something pointy glinted, and with a sharp scratch a liquid was injected into the fuel line on the back of his neck. A haze rushed straight to his processor and his spark slowed to a sedate _thud-thud-thud_.

He moaned weakly as their hands lifted away and he was left to drift back into unconsciousness on the hard ground.


End file.
